Renovation, Renovation, Renovation

by Nell Dixon

  “It looks like a sixteenth century child’s shoe. I took some pictures to the museum and googled it online.” Steve made no move to retrieve the shoe from its perch inside the chimney.

  “I’d love to see it. Is it here?” Mike asked.

  Steve’s sour expression intensified. I waited for him to either refuse or go to the chimney to find the shoe.

  “Steve?” I prompted.

  To my surprise he left the room and I heard his feet on the stairs. He returned a moment later holding the wretched shoe in his hand carefully wrapped in tissue paper.

  He handed it over to Mike, avoiding my gaze. A shiver ran down my spine. Steve must have had the shoe in his room all this time while I’d believed it was safely still inside the chimney.

  Mike took the shoe gingerly from Steve, handling it as if it were as fragile as glass.

  “Gosh, I can’t believe I’m actually handling this.” He unwrapped the paper and turned the shoe over to examine the sole where it was black with soot from the chimney. His face was alight with excitement and I wondered what had been the main attraction for the visit, me or some mouldy bit of sixteenth century leather?

  Steve seemed slightly mollified by Mike’s enthusiasm. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? Kate here got a bit freaked out when I told her what it was. I don’t know if she mentioned it but she’s got a thing about this house.”

  I suddenly remembered why I was glad Steve and I were no longer a couple.

  “I think anyone would have been a little alarmed by finding that in their chimney and being told about spirits. Even more so after the weird things that keep happening here.”

  Steve rolled his eyes.

  “Like today, when Mike and I both thought we saw someone in the window of my room.” I folded my arms and glared at them both, daring them to deny it.

  Mike barely shifted his attention from the shoe. “I only thought it might be someone, the windows are very old, with small leads and the glass does distort.”

  Great, fantastic, it appeared Steve had another convert. Despite his good looks I thought I might go off Mike very quickly.

  “What do you plan on doing with this? Are you going to keep it with the house or donate it to the museum?” Mike reluctantly handed the shoe back to Steve.

  I fixed my gaze on Steve and raised a meaningful eyebrow. He’d better not say he wanted to keep it. Sending it to the museum sounded good to me. Stuffing it back up the chimney to keep the ghosts and ghouls away? That was good too.

  “I think it should stay with the house. It’s part of its history.” Steve didn’t meet my eyes. Which meant he was up to no good.

  “I’ve some documents in my car to show you, Kate, if you’re interested. I found a rather nice watercolour print of the cottage in the eighteen-eighties showing the garden at the rear of the house. I think it’s the area in front of the skip.” Mike smiled at me as Steve slipped out of the room, presumably to return the shoe to wherever he’d hidden it.

  “Oh, that sounds great. I’m planning to tackle the garden soon so it’d be nice to see it in its original layout.” I still hadn’t quite forgiven him for saying that my ghostly lady was a figment of my imagination and glass distortion, but his gorgeous smile did soften my heart a little.

  “I’ll pop out to my car, back in a minute.” He flashed me another winning grin and headed off to his car.

  Steve rejoined me as I made my way to the kitchen.

  “Where’s lover boy gone?”

  “Mike is a friend and my tutor. He’s fetching some things from the car that show the house as it was over a hundred years ago.” I was tempted to point out that it wasn’t any of his business if Mike really was my lover. Instead I contented myself with banging the kettle down on the hob, clumping across the stone tiles and ignoring him.

  “He’s a bit young for you, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, is that the pot talking to the kettle?” I glared at him.

  I hoped he would take a hint and go out. No such luck. He collected a tin of beer from the fridge and installed himself at the kitchen table. Mike appeared a little surprised to see Steve had rejoined us; the tension in the room must have been noticeable. He placed his worn brown briefcase down on the table and carefully slid out a bundle of papers and books.

  “I’m making tea, would you like a cup?” I looked meaningfully at Steve, trying to persuade him to go away.

  “Thanks, Kate, milk no sugar please.” Mike fortunately didn’t see me grimacing at Steve, his attention was given to the contents of the case.

  Steve popped the tab on his lager and leaned back in his seat, making it plain that he intended staying put. I poured two mugs of tea and hoped Steve would choke.

  “This is the picture. I found it in one of the local history books from my collection. I believe the original is in the art gallery in town but you’d have to call in and see.” Mike opened a slender booklet entitled Places of Interest.

  He turned the book side on so I could see the picture plate. There it was, our cottage, in all its original glory. The same creamy white wattle and daub walls, bulged and sagging with age enclosed by oak beams so dark they appeared black.

  Climbing roses surrounded the kitchen door, bowed down with great yellow flower heads. Poppies and daises vied for space amongst drifts of lavender and pinks.

  It was a far cry from the sad and sorry jumble of weeds and plants that were there now. A figure stood on the step; a woman wearing a pretty bonnet and long pink dress, a basket over her arm.

  I peered at her face trying to pick out her features but the painting was indistinct. She didn’t look like the girl I’d thought I’d seen at the window, so she wasn’t my ghost. Maybe it was the glass after all that I’d seen, distorting and twisting a reflection from somewhere else.

  Steve leaned forward to take a look, his hand brushing against mine as he twisted the book so he could see. My traitorous heart speeded up at the casual contact.

  “You’re going to have your work cut out to get the garden back looking like this, Kate.”

  “Yes, it certainly looks as if it was quite a labour of love,” Mike agreed.

  We all stared at the picture. I tried to imagine loving this house enough to want to put in the hours of time that the unknown woman in the picture had undoubtedly bestowed on it. I wondered if she’d been happy here. Had she heard noises or seen things that weren’t there?

  Her lips were curved in a painted smile under the shadow cast by her bonnet brim. How old had she been? Had she been married, had children and raised them in this house? Had this been her forever home? I continued to gaze at the picture. She would have been heartbroken by the state of the garden now.

  “We’ll have to get in touch with the gallery, see if we can get a print framed up. It’d be a nice touch when we put the place on the market.” Steve took another sip of his beer.

  “Absolutely.” I picked up my tea and cradled my hands around the mug allowing the heat to seep into my skin. It was as if with his words the sun had gone from the room leaving me empty and chilly.

  Chapter Twelve

  I checked to see if the book gave any information about the woman in the picture, but it didn’t. It simply gave the year it had been painted along with the artist’s credentials and the name of the cottage. Perhaps the local art gallery in town might know something if I asked them. I decided to try and find out.

  Mike and I left Steve in the kitchen with his lager and wandered outside with the book trying to match up where different features of the original garden might have been.

  “The tree is still there.” I squinted at the picture and back at the tall tree that stood about ten feet away from the back corner of the cottage wall. It stood forlorn and neglected, amongst the sea of brambles that threatened to engulf it.

  “Yes, you’re right.” Mike glanced at the picture.

  “I think it might be a walnut tree.” Somehow, seeing the brave old tree struggling to hang on made me feel guilty. The woman in
the picture had clearly loved this garden and presumably her home. I, on the other hand, resented it deeply and hadn’t done much at all to begin the garden clearance. My efforts had ceased once I’d made enough space on the patio to place a table. With that done, I'd lacked any further motivation for improvement.

  Mike and I each took a seat at the patio table. The sunshine warmed my face and arms, taking away the chill that had engulfed me when we’d been in the kitchen.

  “The cottage is going to look amazing when it’s finished.” Mike gazed up at the house walls, lifting his mug as he did so.

  “I think that’ll be a little while yet. We’re running behind schedule to complete the renovations.” I tried to picture the back wall of the cottage restored to the beauty of the illustration in the book.

  “And then you plan to sell?” He peered at me over the brim of his mug.

  “Yes. Steve and I will probably keep our business going but the proceeds from Myrtle Cottage will mean we can buy a place each and hopefully give us some capital for a new project. Steve’s moving out soon anyway, into a caravan, until we’ve finished the job.” I tried to sound offhand, as if Steve leaving was a good thing.

  I was sure it was a good thing. At least, I was almost sure it was a good thing.

  We had to make the break sooner or later and we’d work better together if we didn't have to live together. It just hadn’t dawned on me that it would happen so soon or create such mixed feelings.

  Mike’s expression brightened. He placed his mug on the table, leaned forward, and took my hand.

  Somewhere inside the house I heard the scrape of one of the kitchen chairs on the tile floor.

  I waited to feel something, some tingle from his touch. Nothing. It was pleasant enough, having a gorgeous man sitting on my patio holding my hand but that was all. It was curiously disappointing, especially when he made no attempt to kiss me.

  Steve didn’t come outside. I guessed he’d overheard enough of our conversation and taken himself elsewhere in the house. Maybe that was why I wasn’t feeling the zing or why I hadn’t got a kiss. I guess having your ex hanging around is enough to put a wet blanket on any developing romance.

  We chatted about the cottage and where I should go to look for more information about the previous inhabitants. I was about to turn the conversation to a more personal nature so I could find out more about Mike, when my mother appeared.

  Clad in a bright blue top with the legend ‘What Happens in Vegas…’ emblazoned on the front she picked her way along the narrow garden path. Chuck followed along behind.

  “Kate, we’ve just taken Louise home and thought we’d call round.” Her eyes narrowed when she noticed Mike holding my hand.

  “Hi Mum.” I stood to greet her. Mike released my fingers and stood waiting to be introduced.

  “Mum, this is Mike. Mike, this is Claire, my mum and her husband, Chuck.” I couldn’t bring myself to introduce Chuck as my stepfather, although I suppose he was really.

  Mike shook hands with them both and I hoped he hadn’t noticed the vaguely hostile gleam in my mother’s eyes.

  “Can I get you both a drink?” I went to gather up the mugs from the table for a return trip to the kitchen.

  “No, dear, we aren’t staying. I didn’t realise you had company. We only called in as Chuck’s dying to see the house.” Mum looked directly at Mike when she said

  ‘company’, and I knew she was twitching to find out more about him.

  “Chuck is from America. He and Mum were recently married in Las Vegas,” I explained.

  “Ah, then you’ll find the cottage fascinating, parts of it date back hundreds of years. Kate has just given me a tour.” Mike beamed at my mother and Chuck.

  “Is Steve not around?” Mum peered at the back door, her seemingly innocent question loaded with meaning.

  “He’s inside somewhere. Go on in and give him a shout.”

  She shot a glance at me as she led Chuck inside the cottage. I knew what that look meant. It was a ‘how could you do this to Steve, holding hands with another man’, kind of a look.

  “Maybe I should go as you have visitors. We can go out for a drink another time,” Mike said.

  “That would be nice.” I didn’t try to persuade him to stay. Between Mum and Steve he wouldn’t have felt very welcome. “I’m sorry about all this.” I flapped a hand towards the kitchen door.

  He picked his case up from the table. “I’ll leave the book with you. You can give it back to me on Wednesday at class.” He leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. “I’ll call you later.”

  Inside the house I heard Mum and Steve laughing together as I waved goodbye to my erstwhile date. I collected Mike’s book from the patio table and carried it inside. Mum, Chuck and Steve were all in the kitchen.

  “Gee, Katie, this place is certainly old,” Chuck marvelled. He gazed around the room, taking in the beams, the worn tiles of the floor and the cavernous fireplace that now housed the Aga.

  “We think the oldest parts of the house date back to the fifteen hundreds,”

  Steve explained. He led Chuck off on a grand tour of the cottage, leaving me and Mum alone in the kitchen.

  They had barely made it into the hall before Mum started her interrogation.

  “Who was that young man you were with?”

  Oh boy. “His name is Mike. Lou and I met him at our evening class.” I shouldn’t have bought up my sister's name, not after the revelations of the morning. I realised my tactical error when Mum renewed her questioning with added vigour.

  “Where is he from? What does he do? And what were you thinking, bringing him here?” The expression on her face suggested I was some kind of Jezebel to torture poor Steve in this way.

  “Mike is a tutor at the college, a professor, he teaches history and he’s my class tutor for the History of Your House course that Lou and I signed up for. He came over to see the cottage and to show me this.” I opened up the book to show her the picture.

  She frowned at the print for a few seconds before resuming her attack.

  “That doesn’t explain why he was holding your hand.”

  “Mum, me and Steve have split up, remember? He has a girlfriend and I’m a free agent to see whoever I like.”

  The fine lines on her forehead puckered at my outburst. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Kate. You and Steve could still make a go of things together. You still share a business and a home.”

  “We’re business partners and that’s all. We have no other kind of relationship.” I wished she would accept that Steve and I were finished.

  “Well, I think you’re being very foolish, Kate. You and Steve were always very happy together until Christmas when you fell out over that barn.” Her dark blue eyes showed her concern.

  “Mum, it’s over between us. The row about the barn showed me everything that was wrong in the relationship. Anyway, we won’t be sharing the cottage for very much longer anyway. Steve is moving out.”

  Her mouth dropped into a surprised ‘o’. “Moving where? When? The cottage isn’t finished yet.”

  “One of his mates is lending him a caravan. He’s going to put it at the end of the garden next to the skip.”

  Mum closed her mouth with a snap. “Oh, what foolishness. Honestly I wish I could take hold of you two and bang your heads together.” She shook her head in despair.

  Chuck’s booming tones filled the corridor as he and Steve made their way back to the kitchen.

  “Katie, honey, your guy Steve here was telling me all about that shoe he found in the chimney. This place is incredible. If there was something like this back home you’d have folks coming from miles around just to take a peek.”

  I tried to imagine Myrtle Cottage as a kind of Disneyland attraction and failed miserably.

  Mum caught hold of Chuck’s hand and gazed lovingly up at him. “I thought you’d be impressed.”

  “It’s amazing, shows that property is still a neat investment e
ven in a flat market, they’ll make a killing when they sell. Maybe we should look out for a little nest like this for our vacation home, be good for us too?”

  Steve lounged against the door frame, saying nothing. I wondered what he thought of Mum’s new husband. The unexpected trill of a mobile phone ringing made me jump. Chuck fished his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and squinted at the screen.

  “I just need to pop out and take this call. Back in a minute, honey.” He smiled at Mum and walked out into the garden.

  * * *

  There was another stranger in the garden today, standing near the entrance to the orchard. At first I thought he might be a deserter from one of the armies. There have been many vagabonds in the area lately. But, as I looked more closely I realised he was one of the shadow people. He seemed to be holding his ear and talking to himself although I could not hear any words.

  He is not like the girl, there was something wrong with the way he acted which made me wary. I was glad when I could no longer see him.

  * * *

  Mum collected her handbag as Chuck strolled back inside the house.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup of tea?” I offered again.

  The expression on Steve’s face was making me nervous. Having Mum and Chuck around for a while longer might relieve the tension I could feel brewing in the air between us.

  “No love, we want to get back. There’s an Osmonds special on one of the cable channels and I forgot to set the thingy box to record.”

  Steve walked with me as I followed Mum and Chuck back through the rear garden and out to where they’d parked the car. We must have looked very ‘coupley’

  again as we stood together waving them off.

  “So, what did you think of Chuck?” I asked as soon as Mum’s battered old green car disappeared from view.

  Steve tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and gave a small shrug. “Dunno, he talks a lot about nothing. Asks a lot of questions.”