Meet Me at Willow Hall

by Carla Burgess

  ‘Sounds good.’ I followed him downstairs, my heart thudding guiltily. What was I meant to do with this information now? I couldn’t tell him I’d been looking through his wallet, and yet how was I supposed to live with the knowledge that he carried photographs of me without saying anything?

  Julian closed the door to the Brew House and we walked back up the path to the hall. The shadows had lengthened and the birds were singing loudly in their nests as they settled down for the night. Bats flitted across in front of us, chasing insects, and Mum clutched my dad’s hand nervously; she’d always hated bats.

  ‘There’s no way I’ll be visiting you after dark if you do move here,’ Mum told me. ‘It’s a beautiful place but I can’t stand bats.’

  ‘They’re fine!’ I laughed. ‘Just think about them as flying hamsters.’

  ‘Oh, stop! That makes them even worse!’

  We reached the hall and Julian let us in through the kitchen door. ‘Mother?’ he called. ‘We have visitors.’

  Switching on the lights, he directed us to sit down at the kitchen table. Cath appeared through a door at the opposite end of the kitchen, smiling and smoothing down her hair.

  ‘Hello!’ she said warmly. ‘I do apologise. I fell asleep on the sofa. It’s been such a warm day. You must be Rachel’s parents.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Birdie and this is my husband, Jim.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you both,’ Cath said as she shook hands with them. ‘Do you like the Brew House? Do you think it might be suitable?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, giving her a big hug. ‘I love it.’

  ‘Really?’ Cath looked delighted. ‘Anthony said you weren’t sure when he first mentioned it.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t, but now I’ve seen it I really think I could make a go of it here. If you’ll have me, of course!’

  ‘Don’t be silly. We’d love to have you working here.’

  ‘We’re just about to talk about the financial side of it all,’ Julian said, sitting down at the table and opening up a file. ‘Of course, there’s no obligation to sign anything tonight. You can take a copy away with you and mull it over for a few days if you wish. There’s no rush from our point of view, anyway. I just thought laying it all out like this would make everything clearer for everybody concerned.’

  ‘Great.’ I took the contract he was holding out to me and started reading through it. I couldn’t believe how low the rent would be. I glanced up at Anthony, wondering if he’d had anything to do with this. He was across the kitchen, helping Cath make the tea. He’d loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, just like he used to when he came home from work when we lived together.

  Julian cleared his throat and said in a low voice: ‘I understand you’ll have to think carefully about committing to this. I know you have a complicated relationship with my brother so it may not be quite as straightforward as it appears to everybody else.’

  I glanced at him, surprised by his grave tone. He held my gaze, his eyes suddenly serious. Was he warning me off? Or just being extra cautious? He made a good point, of course. It was all right getting carried away with the wonderful setting and the possibilities the building offered, but perhaps I should think about it a little more. Moving my business to Willow Hall would mean I’d see Anthony day in and day out. He might carry photos of me around in his wallet, but what did that actually mean in practical terms? Probably not very much at all. It certainly didn’t mean he wanted to get back with me, no matter how friendly he was being at the moment. And even if he did, what then? I wanted him, but I knew I also wanted marriage and children. Anthony had made it clear in the past that he didn’t want that, so was I just heading for more heartbreak by signing up for this?

  A thousand different scenarios played out in my head. I suddenly foresaw a future where I’d resigned myself to a life of unrequited love, watching Anthony longingly from the sidelines while he went about his life as usual, being charming and lovely but offering nothing in the way of a romantic relationship. Even as my father was urging me to go for it, I was imagining the horror of watching Anthony turn up with a new girlfriend, introducing her to me like I was his sister or something. Could I bear that? I wasn’t sure I could.

  Julian was right; I really did need to take a few days to mull this over. Dad was only seeing this in terms of reduced overheads, but I understood it was my heart on the line.

  ‘Okay, well, I’m going to take a few days to think about it. I might look around, just to see if there is anything a bit closer to home.’

  ‘Whaaaaat?!’ Dad said, his voice rising in disbelief. ‘Are you mad? You’ll never find a deal as good as this! You were all for it ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I know it’s a great deal,’ I said reasonably. ‘And I do love it. I just want to make sure it’s the right decision, that’s all.’ I glanced at Anthony again, who was now glaring at his brother across the kitchen. There seemed to be some kind of silent communication going on between them. ‘We’ve only just decided to move out of the shop, after all. There’s no point rushing into something immediately. I just need a few days, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Julian said supportively. ‘Honestly, we have no one else lined up for it so it’s yours if you want it, but no hard feelings if you don’t. It would be marvellous, of course, if you did want it. You know you’re always more than welcome at Willow Hall.’ He smiled warmly at me as Cath brought over a tray of tea and scones and set it down in the centre of the table.

  ‘It’s too dark now,’ she said, scraping back a chair and sitting down next to my mum, ‘but next time you come I’ll get Arthur to show you around the walled garden. It’s mostly vegetables, but over the past few years he’s started growing more and more cut flowers too. He picks some for me, but mostly they’re just left for the bees. I don’t know if you could use any of those in your bouquets, Rachel? I hear most florists use imported flowers these days.’

  ‘That’s really interesting, actually. There’s a real movement towards using British-grown flowers recently. I use them where I can, but the arrangements I do at the moment do contain a lot of imports. Bobbi, the girl who works with me, is really into the idea of making more unstructured bouquets with wild, British-grown flowers. She’s really creative and makes some beautiful arrangements. I’d love to have a look next time I’m here. Even the wildflowers and flowering shrubs you have everywhere would make amazing arrangements. And the range of foliage available is never-ending. I pay a fortune for some of the stuff you’ve got growing here.’

  ‘Really?’

  I nodded. ‘Even if I don’t end up moving here, you should maybe look into selling some of your flowers to the floristry markets. It might well earn you more cash.’

  We stayed for a while longer, drinking tea and chatting about business rates and taxes. Anthony was very quiet. He stayed over the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter. I could feel his eyes on me, but each time I looked over, he looked away again.

  ‘Well, I suppose we ought to get going,’ Mum said, getting to her feet. ‘It’s been a lovely evening. I’m sure Rachel will be in touch soon.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised, as I slipped off Anthony’s jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Julian led us through the house to the front door to show us out and we said our goodbyes in the hallway. ‘Thanks for lending me your jacket,’ I said as I kissed Anthony’s cheek.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He caught my hand and squeezed it before letting me go. He still seemed quiet, standing slightly apart from his mother and brother as they waved us off from the top of the steps, as though he were in a mood. I wasn’t daft. I knew it was because he wanted me to rent the Brew House, but what I didn’t understand was why. Why was he trying to draw me into his world when he’d pushed me away twelve months ago?

  Chapter Seven

  Bobbi arrived at work at eight, looking pale and peaky. ‘Hello! How are you feeling?’ I said cheerfully. ‘You still look rough!’

&nb
sp; ‘Thanks,’ she said weakly. Taking off her denim jacket, she hung it on the coat hook by the door then immediately sat down at the table with her head in her hands.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ I said, thinking how poorly she still looked. I needed to tell her about the shop, but I didn’t want to when she was looking so ill. Her bleached-blonde hair, dyed pink at the ends, fell over her face in lank strands. ‘Maybe you should just go home? I can manage here.’

  ‘No. I’ll be okay in a little while.’

  ‘Really?’ I pulled a face. ‘If it’s a bug, you should be home in bed.’

  ‘It’s not a bug. It’s food poisoning. I was better last night. I don’t know why it’s come back this morning. Maybe I have an allergy or something.’

  ‘What have you eaten?’

  ‘Toast. Maybe I have gluten intolerance?’

  ‘Maybe. And maybe you should just go home.’

  She put her head on the table and groaned. ‘But I’ve just got here. I can’t face getting back on the bus now.’

  ‘I’ll pay for a taxi.’

  ‘No, just let me whimper here for a while. I’ll be all right.’

  I watched her doubtfully for a moment. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Checking my watch, I realised it was time to open up the shop. The sun warmed my back as I set up the pot plants and flowers on the table outside. Cars rumbled past, their tyres hissing in the puddles left by the rain shower we’d had first thing this morning. I paused to look at the window display. Was it good enough? Was that why people weren’t coming in? Perhaps I should introduce some brighter-coloured flowers. Maybe some sunflowers. As it was, it was full of pinks and purples, but perhaps some yellow would set it off nicely. Bobbi could do that today if she was feeling up to it.

  I’d spent all night thinking about the Brew House and weighing up the pros and cons of moving there. It seemed to make perfect sense from a business point of view, but from an emotional one I wasn’t so sure. The only way I could see of moving forward was to go and speak with Anthony himself and tell him how I was feeling. He’d always been straight with me in the past, so I thought I could trust him to be honest with me this time too.

  Bobbi perked up a little over the course of the day and by the end of the afternoon I felt she was strong enough to take the news about the shop.

  ‘What? But why?’ she said, looking horrified.

  ‘Because we’re not getting enough customers.’ I sat down at the table opposite her and reached for her hand. ‘I know it’s sad about the shop, but we’re not closing, we’re just moving. Your job’s safe, I promise.’

  ‘But this shop’s been in your family for years! How can you bear to let it go?’

  I shrugged sadly. ‘We can’t afford to be sentimental about it. As much as I’d love to stay here, we’re not making enough money to justify it so we’re going to have to find somewhere cheaper.’

  ‘Have you found anywhere yet?’

  I hesitated. I didn’t know whether to tell her about the Brew House or not. ‘Not yet, no,’ I said, deciding against it. I assumed she would jump at the chance to work at Willow Hall and I didn’t need anyone else telling me what to do. ‘I don’t suppose you know of any units to let, do you? Any lovely little shops in a pretty village somewhere?’

  ‘No,’ she huffed. ‘Surely they’d be just as expensive and attract just as few customers as this place.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know. We’ve only just started looking.’

  Bobbi sat looking dejected and I felt sorry that I’d ruined her mood when she was just starting to look better. I couldn’t blame her for being upset. ‘You can go home early if you want to?’ I told her. ‘I can finish up here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. You still don’t look well. Go and get some rest.’

  She nodded and got to her feet. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Once she’d gone I sat for a while, just looking around the shop and committing small details to memory. It didn’t feel right to give Bobbi the news that we’d be moving, but not give her any details about where we’d be moving to. I’d hate to lose her, but I wouldn’t blame her if she started to look for another job. I wondered if what she’d said was true; would another shop in a village be just as expensive? If I turned down the Brew House, would the only cost-effective alternative be some soulless commercial unit? The thought made me want to cry.

  I needed to talk to Anthony. As far as I could see, he was the only negative thing about the Brew House.

  ***

  The sun was already low in the sky by the time I arrived at Gatehouse Lodge. I’d driven through the village, past the main entrance to Willow Hall, and turned right into a country lane, thinking it would be a more direct way to get there. I was right. The small cottage had come into view about a mile after the turning and, though it was partially shielded from the road by a line of tall green conifers, I was driving slowly enough to recognise it and turn into the driveway, only to be greeted by a pair of electric wrought-iron gates. I eyed the intercom system attached to the gatepost before pressing the call button. As soon as I pressed it, I wished I hadn’t. I wanted to turn and run away. Did I really want to do this now? Maybe I should have left it for another day.

  Hopefully, he would be out. I peered through the gate at the cottage. It was so pretty. Honeysuckle clung to the wooden porch and a climbing rose grew up and over the front window. There was no sign of life from the windows.

  The intercom crackled into life.

  ‘Yes?’ he barked.

  I was taken aback by his unwelcoming tone. Perhaps I should have phoned first. Yes, phoning would have been a far better idea. ‘It’s me,’ I said, hesitantly. ‘Could I have a word?’

  ‘Rachel?’ His voice immediately got much warmer. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll buzz you in.’

  The gate swung slowly open and I parked next to his BMW. ‘Jesus!’ I murmured a moment later when Anthony appeared at his garden gate. He was shirtless and holding an axe, a thin veil of sweat glistening on his forehead. I tried not to stare as I got out of the car, telling myself it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before when I lived with him. ‘Hi,’ I called cheerfully. ‘Sorry to disturb you. I just needed to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Okay, no problem. I’m just chopping firewood to make myself feel manly. Come and sit in my garden.’

  I smiled, aware that the tone of this visit was wrong already. Following him through the garden gate, I stepped into a rectangular garden bordered by conifers and sat down on the bench in the corner.

  ‘I’ve only got these last two to do, then I’m all yours,’ he said, placing another chunk of wood on top of a stump. Narrowing my eyes slightly at his choice of words, I watched his muscles ripple as he swung the axe down on to the wood. As it splintered and split in two I had the weirdest sense of déjà vu. I was pretty sure I’d dreamt about this at some point over the last year.

  ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ he asked, as he got ready to chop the last piece of wood.

  ‘The Brew House.’

  ‘Oh, what about it?’

  ‘Whether I should take it or not.’

  ‘Of course you should take it. It makes perfect sense. Why wouldn’t you take it?’ Resting the axe on the floor, he looked at me, perplexed.

  ‘Because of you.’

  ‘Me?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

  I sighed. Now the time had come for me to say it, I was finding it harder than I thought. I had it all planned out. Nothing too emotional or sentimental. No tears. But in all the times I’d imagined making this speech, it was never with Anthony shirtless, nor with a couple of pigeons crashing about in the tree above me.

  ‘Can I use your toilet?’

  ‘Of course – up the stairs on the right.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I bolted into the house and up the stairs. I knew I was being a coward but I needed some space away from Anthony’s biceps to
remember what I was supposed to say. I sat on the toilet and screwed my eyes shut. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. What was it again? I love you and I want your babies? No, no, it was about the Brew House. That was it. How could I rent it when I still had feelings for him and he had none for me? I drew in a deep breath. I wasn’t sure why I’d thought coming here was a good idea. I could never think straight when Anthony was around.

  I washed my hands in the sink and went out on to the landing. Anthony’s bedroom door was open and I paused at the top of the stairs, my eyes drawn to the rumpled grey covers on his unmade bed. A blue suit jacket hung on his wardrobe door and his watch lay on his bedside table. It brought back so many memories of our time living together that it brought a lump to my throat. I missed him. Even when I was with him, I missed him.

  I could hear Anthony clanking cups in the kitchen below. Tearing my eyes away, I went downstairs and lingered in the doorway. He’d put his T-shirt back on and was pouring water out of a filter jug into a glass.

  ‘So, go on then, what’s the problem?’ He poured a second glass of water and pushed it towards me.

  ‘This,’ I said, producing the letter he’d sent me from the hospital and placing it on the counter.

  He stared at it for a moment before crunching it up in his fist and throwing it into the bin. ‘There, problem solved.’

  I wasn’t sure what reaction I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. I hadn’t even intended to show him the letter. It was just meant to be in my pocket, reminding me I wasn’t what he wanted.

  ‘It doesn’t solve anything. I still know what you wrote.’

  He gave me a look like he thought I was mad and put his hands on his hips. ‘Didn’t we go through this the other day? I was really angry and low when I wrote that letter. I was a selfish bastard, pushing everyone away. Lashing out. I hated everyone, myself especially.’

  I sighed and scratched my head. This was it now: the part where I jumped in with both feet. ‘But you didn’t love me, did you? You don’t love me. The problem is, I still love you.’ Heat rushed through me and the air seemed to warp. There was no going back now.