Home for Winter

by Rebecca Boxall

  Busying herself around the kitchen, trying to remember where she’d put the sugar and locating a jug for the milk, Serena did her best to make small talk with Miss Dawson until finally the tea was made and she was forced to take a seat opposite the formidable woman.

  ‘I’d already heard you’d taken on a foreign girl to help in the house,’ remarked Miss Dawson once Serena had sat down. ‘But I was even more alarmed to discover you interviewed an ex-convict as a potential lodger! I do hope you gave him short shrift,’ she said, blowing on her tea delicately. The wattle wobbled.

  ‘Actually, he’s charming,’ replied Serena. ‘He moves in tomorrow. Poor lad, he got in with a terrible crowd in his youth, but he’s a reformed character now. He’s a good Christian and I’m sure you’ll be as bowled over by him as we all are,’ she said, more confidently than she felt.

  ‘A leopard never changes its spots,’ Miss Dawson predicted. ‘He’ll be off with the silver before you know it.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Dawson, we don’t even have any silver,’ Serena said, laughing. ‘And you’ll be as familiar as I am with the concepts of forgiveness and redemption,’ she added, feeling ashamed to think that it had taken Ashna to remind her of this. The comment was perhaps a tiny bit barbed as well, as Serena was starting to become a little fed up with Miss Dawson by now.

  ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ came the reply, and this time Serena bit her tongue.

  ‘Now, Miss Dawson,’ she said, changing tack. ‘You’re so familiar with the goings-on in the village, I’m sure you’ll be a great help to us as we settle in. Perhaps you could tell me what events take place through the year so I can be sure we follow tradition as much as possible. Let me get a notepad.’

  Miss Dawson brightened considerably at this, perhaps relieved to discover the young new vicar and his girlfriend wouldn’t be too radical after all, even if they were living in sin, taking in an ‘Injun’ girl (as pronounced by Miss Dawson) and harbouring an (ex-) convict. She settled back in her chair and began to rattle off the parish’s annual events as Serena scribbled away in the notepad. Miss Dawson was particularly enthusiastic about the Harvest Supper, which took place annually in October, and Serena’s heart sank as she realised it would be up to her and Will to match up to what had clearly always been a very popular event. It sounded like a very posh affair – a cocktail party with waitresses offering round canapés while a string quartet provided the music.

  An hour later Serena saw Miss Dawson off the premises. She returned to the kitchen, washed the teacups (she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to not having a dishwasher) and then she ripped her list from the notepad and tore it neatly into shreds.

  6.

  SUMMER 1990

  Serena was as pleased as the next child at the prospect of the summer holidays, but there was one aspect of them she wasn’t so thrilled about. She and Freddie, her pen pal, had been exchanging letters on a weekly basis now since April and he’d warned her in his last letter that, with his return to Majorca for the summer holidays, it was unlikely he’d have much time to write until term began again in September. Writing to Freddie and, even better, receiving his letters had become a source of enormous joy for Serena.

  There had, of course, been a battle with Luna about it at first, as her sister had wanted to write to him as well. Serena had caved in as usual and Luna had written a long letter that was much more amusing than Serena’s. But Luna had lost interest even before buying a stamp and soon it became clear to Serena that her twin would never have the patience to establish a long-distance friendship. She was far too much of an immediate, impulsive person.

  It was strange how different Luna was from the rest of the family. Both girls looked like their mother Stephanie, who was tall and slim with blonde hair she tamed as best she could. And, like Stephanie, Luna was interested in clothes and a good gossip, but otherwise Luna and her mother were dissimilar. Luna was passionate and moody, while Stephanie was a far milder and more even-tempered person, although Serena supposed that came at a price: she could be somewhat detached and unemotional, very involved in her own life and in keeping up appearances.

  Their father, meanwhile, was a considered, cautious character. He loved butterflies and pored over his lepidopterology books, teaching Serena which winged creatures to look out for on their walks together. She’d recognised a rare Green Hairstreak on their last ramble, much to Arthur’s delight.

  He was also obsessed with making tiny model aircraft, working tirelessly at the desk in his study as he painstakingly glued and painted each model. Serena often brought her beanbag through to the study to watch him deftly working at his passion. It wasn’t the subject that magnetised Serena, but the delicate way in which her father’s nimble fingers worked and the intensity of his eyes. She found herself immersed in a kind of trance as she sat quietly, observing. It was her favourite thing to do.

  Luna thought them both strange – Serena and their father. She endlessly tried to make her twin more like her. To encourage her out of the study and up to the bedroom they shared, trying to entice her with glittery nail varnishes or an offer for Serena to cut her doll’s hair. But Serena remained where she was until Luna gave up and soon she would burst into the study, her face caked in a mud pack, hoping to scare Arthur and Serena with her ghoulish looks. They would both smile obligingly, but their attention would soon return to the model aircraft and Luna would give up, wash off her mask and retreat to the kitchen to discuss outfits with their mum.

  In truth, Serena thought six weeks was a little long and by the end of August she was yearning to return to school and the structure it offered. Too much of life at home was unpredictable. Her father was an anchor of solidity, but on weekdays he left early to catch his train for work in the City and didn’t return until gone six, when he’d retreat to his study with a stiff drink and only emerge at suppertime. Stephanie, meanwhile, was always rushing off to luncheon parties or tennis games or her book club, leaving Mrs Horrins from next door installed in the sitting room with her tapestry to keep an eye on the girls.

  Serena was thus left to fend for herself in the strange world of Luna’s moods. Serena was fairly sure she was exactly the same person every day. Not very exciting, perhaps, but somebody perfectly obedient and capable of pleasant conversation with anyone she might come across. With Luna, however, you could never be sure who she might be from one day to the next. There could be a day so blissful Serena hardly dared breathe in case she broke the spell: a day when Luna and she would play cheerfully with their Barbie dolls in their bedroom or splash around in the paddling pool in the garden. But the next one, for no apparent reason, would be the polar opposite and Serena would observe scowls from across the breakfast table and find herself losing her appetite, her toast lodging itself in her chest in a hard lump, aware that the day ahead would be long and testing.

  The worst were the days when her sister announced she was ‘having a bad day,’ as she would describe it, making Serena feel somehow at fault. Anything could prompt this. Occasionally it was justified, but more often than not Luna’s behaviour was out of proportion. Once, Louise Bradbury invited Serena to her birthday party and not Luna, causing an almighty storm in the Meadows household. Serena had to endure her sister’s sulks, glares and much slamming of doors all day long until in the end, in despair, she phoned Louise and asked if she’d mind inviting Luna too.

  ‘But I did invite her!’ Louise said. ‘I sent you an invitation each. I thought it must be annoying always getting joint ones. Hers must have got lost in the post.’

  Serena relayed this to Luna who was initially suspicious, but after speaking to Louise herself, relented at last. Louise sent her another invitation and Serena felt as though she could breathe again, but she could barely believe it when Luna then declined to attend.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m busy that day,’ she wrote on her RSVP slip. She was the queen of cutting off her nose to spite her face.

  Serena wished sometimes she had the guts t
o ruin one of the good days by insisting she was ‘having a bad day’ herself, but she never dared, and never really even wanted to.

  So when the holidays came to an end, it was with relief that Serena returned to school, even though she wouldn’t be in Miss Jones’s class any longer. And her first day back was made even more wonderful by the arrival of a letter with a Spanish postage stamp, waiting for her as she scrambled through the front door at the end of the day.

  ‘Dear Serena,’ the letter began. ‘I’m not even back at school yet but I thought I’d write anyway. The holidays haven’t been as much fun as I expected this year – two of my sisters are staying with friends and I’ve been a bit bored with just Little Jane for company. In a strange way, I’ll be looking forward to getting back to the dorm! Anyway, you’re probably mega busy but I thought I’d take five minutes to scribble a quick letter to you . . .’

  Serena hugged the letter to her chest. Back to normality. To routine. To letters from Freddie.

  7.

  MARCH 2015

  Three weeks after moving into the Vicarage the new household had settled into a routine together. Will was an early bird and was always up and about hours before anyone else, walking to the shop to buy a newspaper, and chatting with other early risers in the parish, but Serena and Ashna had taken to breakfasting together and Pete would often join them as they were finishing up.

  After that, Pete would head off to the bus stop and journey into Rye for a demoralising morning at the job centre while Serena and Ashna companionably completed various chores around the house, occasionally assisted by Mrs Pipe. Serena had yet to work the mysterious housekeeper out. There was something dreadfully creepy about her and yet she could be amusing too, in a deadpan sort of way. Ashna seemed a little nervous of her and would sometimes make excuses when Mrs Pipe was there, disappearing to her room. She seemed to spend a lot of time in there but Serena was reluctant to disturb her, although every now and then she would try to encourage her to talk.

  One day, when Ashna was about to vanish again, Serena asked if she’d mind helping her sort out the laundry room. All the bedding was still in boxes and needed unpacking and stacking in neat piles. Ashna was more than happy to help, but was content to do so without much chatter.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ Serena asked her as they folded sheets and blankets. ‘Do you like the village?’

  ‘It’s lovely, from what I’ve seen so far. I get a bit panicky when I go out and about. At the moment I’d rather stay in the house. It’s so kind of you to let me stay.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sorry you don’t feel able to get out more though. Your family won’t know you’re here, Ashna. You’re not going to bump into them in the village.’

  ‘The sensible part of me knows that, but I’m just so scared . . . Am I going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? I can’t bear it.’ Ashna’s eyes were wide and afraid.

  ‘Ashna, I understand . . . But you’ve got to live. You’re only young.’ Serena stopped herself. She was preaching to someone who was injured and needed time to lick her wounds. If anyone understood that, she did.

  ‘Will you help me with this sheet?’ she asked, changing the conversation, and Ashna smiled with relief.

  ‘Of course.’

  And although Serena worried about her, Ashna seemed happy enough when she joined the rest of them for dinner each night, which was generally an extremely jolly affair, with Will providing the evening meal and Pete always full of light-hearted chatter despite his lack of success on the job front.

  The beginnings of spring were becoming apparent at last and, on a particularly mild day in March, Serena turned thirty-five. She hadn’t made any plans this year. The only thing she wished of the day was that it should come and go like any other.

  It soon became clear her birthday wish would not be granted. She’d barely woken when she was greeted by a wide-grinned Will, carrying a cup of tea in one hand and with a large grey cat under the other arm.

  ‘Happy birthday to you!’ he sang out, depositing the tea on the pine bedside table and the cat on the bed.

  ‘Oh, it’s adorable!’ Serena exclaimed, inspecting the grey ball of fluff. ‘Has it got a name?’

  ‘Not it, she,’ replied Will as he perched on the bed. ‘And she’s called Paddington. Makes her sound like a boy, but she was deposited at the rescue centre with a sign round her neck saying “Please look after this cat ”, hence the name. She looks quite like a bear, I think.’

  ‘Oh, she does! And she’s so cuddly, look!’ Serena had by now gathered the cat to her, cradling her like a baby.

  ‘The most sweet-natured cat they had,’ Will explained. ‘And I admit, there’s another reason for Paddington. I didn’t want to freak you out, but the other day I saw a mouse in the kitchen. I thought Paddington could earn her keep.’

  ‘I thought I heard a squeaking noise in the kitchen yesterday. Well, Paddington, you’re a truly wonderful present. Thank you so much,’ she said, looking at Will and marvelling for the millionth time at how lucky she was to have him. He looked pleased as punch to have thought of such a clever idea and she loved how transparent he was. He’d been open and straightforward from the moment she’d first met him.

  ‘Now,’ said Will, as he took a slurp of Serena’s tea. ‘Have you thought about how you’re going to spend your morning?’

  ‘No plans,’ she answered. ‘Unpack a few more boxes. Nearly done now. And I thought I’d ring round to see if I can get a quote from a painter and decorator.’

  ‘Excellent, but don’t forget to have some fun too,’ Will told her as he slipped on his dog collar. ‘I’m busy this morning but I’ll pop back for a bite to eat at lunchtime. Don’t go to any trouble though, there’s plenty in the fridge.’

  Will got back, as promised, at one o’clock just as Serena was rustling about in the fridge looking for the salad dressing.

  ‘No need for that,’ Will said, wrapping his arm around Serena’s waist and pushing the fridge door shut. ‘I’m taking you out, come on.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Serena. Despite her advice to Ashna, she hadn’t ventured out much herself since they’d moved to the village. She was taking things slowly – still fragile, though she was gradually beginning to feel better in this new environment. So far she’d had outings only to the church on Sundays, the grocer’s and the newsagent’s.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Serena asked as she applied her lip gloss in the hallway mirror. It was her only nod to make-up – she’d never quite managed to get the hang of it, despite numerous lessons from her sister. Will draped her parka over her shoulders.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he answered, and five minutes later they were entering the local pub where a table had been beautifully decorated with balloons and banners. On one of the placemats was a pile of presents. Serena was touched, but confused too, for the table was laid for seven – not two.

  ‘Surprise!’ shouted Ashna as she emerged from under the table. Serena looked on in amusement as Pete then also appeared, ludicrously, from underneath while Mrs Pipe stepped out silently from behind a curtain, making Serena jump. A couple she’d never met before hovered slightly awkwardly, having clearly decided to maintain their dignity and refrain from hiding with the others.

  ‘Serena, this is Dr Charles,’ Ashna explained. ‘You remember? He was the kind stranger who gave me a lift to the Vicarage.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Serena, shaking his hand. He was middle-aged – approaching fifty, she’d have guessed – but had a definite gleam in his eye that made him seem younger.

  ‘Please, call me Rob. And this is my wife, Alice,’ the doctor explained. Serena took the cool, limp hand of a woman who must have been in her early forties and who clearly took great care of herself. She was dressed impeccably, with toned arms that suggested hours on the tennis court or in the gym, carefully highlighted coppery hair (as sleek as Serena’s was messy), perfect make-up and pale blue eyes.

  ‘It’s so sweet of you to
come,’ said Serena. ‘Especially as you haven’t even met us before!’ Alice gave a tight smile, but Rob waved his arms around as though it were nothing.

  ‘Always love a party,’ he said. ‘And a party is never a party without this,’ he declared, as he grabbed a bottle from the stainless steel bucket on the table and popped open the champagne.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ he brayed, and the celebration really began.

  ‘It was so kind of you to give Ashna a lift to the Vicarage,’ Serena said to Rob as they clinked glasses, both of them observing Ashna, who was chatting to Pete by the bar.

  ‘Not at all! I felt guilty that I didn’t invite her to stay with us, but Alice was away that evening and you know how villagers can talk.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I thought it better all round if she tried the Vicarage first, though I did give her my number just in case.’

  ‘She said. You did the right thing, anyway. We’re thrilled to have her.’

  Alice had been talking to Will, but at this point she joined Serena and Rob, cradling a glass of mineral water.

  ‘What’s the story with . . . I’m sorry – what’s her name?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Ashna,’ Serena told her. ‘I’ll let her tell you herself, but she was in need of a place to stay and Will and I were delighted to start filling some of the rooms in the Vicarage. We have Pete now too. I’ll introduce you in a minute.’

  ‘Well, don’t fill every room with lodgers,’ laughed Rob. ‘You two young things . . . I expect there’ll be the pitter-patter of tiny feet soon.’

  Serena noticed Alice shoot the doctor a warning glance and she warmed to her a little more. Fortunately, before Serena had a chance to answer, Will appeared at her elbow.

  ‘Come on then, birthday girl, take a seat. Time to order some food.’

  By four o’clock, Serena had opened all her gifts and everyone was marvellously sozzled in spite of their fine lunches – apart from Alice who needed to drive to the local prep school to pick up her children, Toby and Emily. She left them all to it, a look of relief on her face, while Serena refilled her glass. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d drunk this much in the daytime and it felt liberating – she felt like a champagne bottle after it’s been uncorked. She noticed Will also looked more relaxed than he had in months. He was chatting enthusiastically to Pete, who was concentrating hard as Will explained how he’d started home-brewing beer, going into all the scientific details.