by T A Williams
‘Well, how about I come car shopping with you some time next week?’
She accepted eagerly and they arranged to meet on Thursday. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer him lunch in return for dinner the other night. But the knowledge that he was in his flat with another woman stopped her. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
After he hung up, he wished he’d offered to buy her lunch, but he decided against calling her back. A smell of grilled bacon came through from the kitchen. He reached for a jumper and headed through to Janie. He was impressed. This was just about the first time she had ever cooked for him. Things were looking up.
Chapter 11
Alice arrived in Exeter on time and went straight to the car rental agency opposite the station. This time she made a note of the type of car they gave her. It looked very similar to the one she had had the previous week, just silver instead of black. She drove straight to Woodcombe, to drop her bag. She was met at the door by a smiling Mrs Tinker and a friendly dog.
‘Hello Mrs Tinker, and hello Danny.’ The dog seemed very pleased to see her, as did his mistress.
‘Hello, my dear. I’ve got something to show you. Put your bag down here and come next door with me.’ She led Alice back out of the front door and along to the entrance of Duck Cottage. The door was half open. She waved Alice in.
The house was warm and welcoming and smelt of paint. In the kitchen an immensely tall man in a pair of white overalls was painting the ceiling. He had a step ladder, but was clearly only using it as a place to rest the pot of paint. The whole place looked wonderful.
‘You didn’t need to redecorate, Mrs Tinker. It looked fine as it was.’ Beside her, she could feel the heat from an Aga identical to the one next door.
‘Alice, this is Neil. He has painted our houses ever since I first got married.’
‘Have a heart, Agnes, I’m not that old.’ He waved a white-spotted hand in Alice’s direction. ‘I would shake your hand, but…’ He gave her a smile before returning his attention to Mrs Tinker. ‘Do you want me to give the bathroom a coat while I’m at it?’
‘Whatever you think needs doing, Neil. It needs to look good for Alice when she moves in.’ She turned towards her. ‘Have you got a date yet?’
Alice had been thinking about this on the train. There seemed no point hanging on in London. There was nothing and nobody to keep her there really. ‘As soon as possible if that’s all right with you. I’ll ring the removal people on Monday and see when they can manage. And I’m going shopping for a car on Thursday, so I won’t have to keep renting.’
‘That’s excellent, my dear. Neil will be out of here in the next few days. So any time will be fine. Just you let me know.’
Alice looked at her watch. It was half past one. ‘I think I’ll just slip down to the pub for a sandwich. Thank you so very much. And I’m sure I’ll see you again, Neil.’
The pub was unexpectedly busy. Then she remembered that it was the weekend. From the number of cars in the car park it was clear that people came there from outside the village as well. She ordered a crab sandwich and took her mineral water to a little table beside the door. Around her there was a sociable hubbub of noise. She was waiting for the food to be brought to her table when she spotted a familiar face. She gave him a little wave. For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, but then recollection dawned. He came across to her table.
‘I can remember that it’s Alice, but I can’t remember your surname. Must be getting old.’
She smiled up at him. ‘And you are Daniel Tremayne. This must prove that I’m younger than you are.’ She felt remarkably pleased to see him. She pointed to the other chair. ‘You look tired. Would you like a seat?’
There was a moment’s hesitation, then he sat down opposite her. ‘Thanks. I’ve been on my feet all morning.’
She scrutinised him discreetly. He was still as handsome as she remembered, but there were bags under his eyes and he did not look comfortable. ‘Are you a regular here, Mr Tremayne? Oh, and by the way, it’s Grant, Alice Grant.’
‘Of course.’ He slapped his forehead in annoyance. ‘I knew it was a short name. Grant, right, I’ve got it now. I suppose I am a sort of regular. I rarely go to pubs these days but, if I do, it’s this one.’
‘So what have you been doing to keep you on your feet all Saturday morning?’
‘We had a car boot sale to raise funds for the church. It only just finished half an hour ago. A lot of the folk here are recovering, like me, from the effort.’ He looked across at her. ‘And how long are you down for this time?’
‘Only for a few days now, but I am moving in properly very soon. I’m renting Mrs Tinker’s other cottage. Some time this month, I hope.’ He looked tired, but there was more to it than that. The light blue eyes flickered around the room nervously. She did her best to put him at his ease. ‘I suppose Easter is a very busy time for you.’
‘I don’t know. It’s pretty full-on all year, really. From March onwards we are busy getting the fields ready, planting and so on.’ While she was trying to make sense of his words, he jumped to his feet. ‘Here, Alice, there’s somebody I should introduce you to.’ He caught the arm of a tall lady. ‘Megan, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.’
Alice looked up as the lady, probably around fifty, turned towards her. The first thing she noticed was the clerical collar. Followed by the friendly smile.
‘Hello Daniel. Who’s your new friend?’ She was quite an attractive woman, struggling against some terrible clothes. A tweed skirt?
‘Megan, let me introduce you to a soon-to-be resident of our lovely village. This is Alice Grant. Alice, this is our beloved vicar, Megan Jones.’
Alice swallowed her surprise and offered her hand. ‘You have a lovely old church.’ The vicar’s smile broadened. Alice could now see that she was probably not fifty after all. Maybe mid forties, only six or seven years her senior.
‘Alas, as with all old buildings, it is badly in need of maintenance. If we couldn’t rely on the help of our faithful volunteers like Daniel, I fear I would be conducting services from the shelter of an umbrella.’
‘Would you like to sit down?’ Alice was beginning to get over her surprise and come to terms with who was who. ‘I imagine you’ve been on your feet all morning too.’
The vicar gave her a grateful look and slid onto the free chair. ‘Ah, that’s better. Daniel, have I taken your seat?’
‘Yes, but you are welcome to it. I have to be off. In fact I was on my way out when Alice spotted me. I’m sorry I have to rush off, but I’ve got to get back to Daisy.’ He bobbed his head in their direction and left.
Daisy? Alice was just thinking what an archaic name his wife had, when the vicar supplied some further information. ‘Poor Daniel. He’s been up most of the night with one of his milking herd. He looked exhausted this morning, but he insisted on helping us. The sale was in one of his fields, so I suppose he felt responsible.’
Alice found herself feeling unexpectedly relieved to hear about poor Daisy. ‘So, he’s a farmer, is he?’ She caught the vicar’s quizzical eye. ‘I’d better explain, I don’t really know anything about him. We just met briefly the other day in the church. In fact, until I met you, I thought he was the vicar.’
Just for a moment, she had the feeling that the vicar hesitated, but it might just have been an impression. ‘Daniel Tremayne is the closest thing to a lord of the manor that we’ve got around here. They say that if you stand on top of the church tower and look west, all you’ll see is Tremayne land.’
‘Ah, that explains all the Tremayne gravestones.’
‘Well spotted. Yes, I believe he can trace his ancestry back to medieval times. With a name like Jones, the furthest back I can get is the nineteen twenties. The name Jones is as common as muck in the Welsh valleys, I’m afraid. So what about you, Alice? What brings you to Woodcombe?’
‘I’m going for a fresh start.’ She soon found herself talking quite op
enly to the vicar about her life to date, her sacking and her decision to restart her life. She even told her about the house full of poo. The vicar wrinkled up her nose.
‘Well, at least by the sounds of it, that particular problem has now been eliminated. When are you going to take a look round the house?’
‘I thought I might go this afternoon. So, if you don’t see me again, you’ll know that the shock killed me.’
‘No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, Alice. And, although you don’t need me to tell you, I think you are doing just the right thing. Not many of us get offered a chance to start over again. I quite envy you.’ She glanced around the room before returning her eyes to Alice, a smile on her face. ‘There are some winter mornings when I rather wish I had gone for marriage to Richard Branson. I’m sure I could learn to like the beard. I can just see myself on a Caribbean island.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Anyway, welcome to the village. I live right beside the church. The one with the blue door. If you ever want a cup of tea and a chat, you know where to find me.’ She gave her another smile. ‘Or come in the evening for a glass of wine.’
She left just as Alice’s crab sandwich appeared.
Chapter 12
Alice pulled up outside number 23 with considerable trepidation. The first thing she noticed was the lack of rubbish in the front garden. All that was left was a muddy puddle. She took that to be a very good sign. As she approached the front door, she saw that the windows were slightly open. As she opened the door and tentatively slid her nose around it, she was relieved and delighted to smell fresh air. All right, she had to admit to herself as she walked into the hall, not quite the sort of fresh air you might get on Beauchamp seafront, but an enormous improvement on what had been there before. She left the front door wide open behind her to aid the ventilation and started her voyage of discovery.
The air, as she penetrated into the house, had a chemical smell to it. The explanation was right in front of her in the lounge, where she found a printed card on the mantelpiece. Underneath the name of the cleaning firm, it read: No toxic chemicals have been used in this property. With good ventilation any residual odour should dissipate within a few days.
That sounded hopeful, which was more than could be said for the room. A huge patch of plaster had dropped off the ceiling, leaving bare wooden laths. A good quarter of the floorboards beneath this had completely disappeared, exposing the earth below. A sinister-looking grey fungus grew up the walls and into the window frame. The whole underfloor area was soaking wet. Maybe the presence of water meant that it wasn’t dry rot after all. Whatever it was, it did not look good. She retreated in the direction of the door.
The dining room and kitchen appeared almost normal at first sight, until you looked up. In both cases, the ceilings were bulging downwards, presumably in a similar state to the lounge. When she climbed the stairs and investigated in the bedrooms, she began to realise what had caused the plaster to drop off. In spite of the open windows and a lingering chemical odour, there was no disguising the underlying smell of urine. The stained floor boards told a sorry, sordid story. She hastily completed her tour of inspection and made a run for the front door. After taking a few lungfuls of clean air, she plucked up the courage to run back upstairs and force the windows further open front and back. Hopefully this would create more of a through draught. Mission accomplished, she headed back onto the street.
She was sitting on the wall, collecting her thoughts, when a noise attracted her attention. It was Vicky from next door, tapping on her lounge window. She beckoned Alice to come in.
‘Come to inspect the results of the big clean-up?’ She led the way through to the kitchen. This time there was no sign of the baby. ‘Tea?’
Alice nodded gratefully.
‘You should have seen what came out of next door.’ Vicky’s voice was awe-struck. ‘They were all dressed up like spacemen, complete with masks and gloves. They must have filled their truck four or five times.’ She turned back from the kettle, her eyes wide. ‘Do you know, they told me they removed no fewer than two thousand bottles of pee?’
Now it was Alice’s turn to look aghast.
‘And I don’t mean beer bottles. These were five-litre plastic containers.’
Alice’s face turned green.
‘And buckets and buckets of what they called “solids”.’
‘Oh, dear God.’ Alice pulled out a tissue and blew her nose in distaste. In the distance she heard a plaintive wail.
‘There’s Danny. He’s had his after-lunch sleep and he’s woken up. He probably heard your voice and wants to say hello.’ Vicky went off and returned with the little boy in her arms. He was red in the face and a bit cranky. She handed him over to Alice, who took him readily.
‘Hello Danny, I was thinking about you the other day.’ She smiled down at him, while reaching into her bag with her other hand. She looked across at Vicky. ‘I saw this in a shop in London the other day and couldn’t resist it. Here.’ She passed the little package across. Inside was a tiny sweat shirt with a big D on front and back. ‘It’s a little thank you for the life-saving cup of tea last week.’ She looked back at the little boy who decided to give her a big smile. In an instant she forgot her woes and burrowed her face into his tummy. He chortled.
‘Thank you, it’s sweet, but you shouldn’t have.’ Vicky placed a mug of tea in front of her and a packet of biscuits. As they chatted, Alice took one and nibbled it. She was tickled to see that the baby’s eyes followed her hand each time she raised it to her mouth, just like the Labrador. These two very different Dannys had that in common. She wondered for a moment if the two grown-up Dannys held strong views on biscuits. This thought, too, helped to raise her morale.
‘So what do you do, Vicky?’ Alice asked, and noted a cloud cross the younger woman’s face for a moment.
‘You’re looking at him. This little chap is keeping me fully occupied at present.’ There was a soft note to her voice, but there was something more underneath. She looked up at Alice. ‘And I love him to bits. But, to be honest, as soon as I can, I’d like to go back to university.’
Alice gave her a smile. ‘That’s a coincidence. I had exactly the same thought. What would you want to study?’
Vicky looked happier now. ‘A teaching qualification. I think I’d enjoy teaching. I did a languages degree here at Exeter a few years back. I’d really like to try teaching French and German.’ The cloud crossed her face again. ‘And I’m probably going to need the money. What about you?’
Alice noted her discomfort, but made no comment. ‘I’m thinking of history. Maybe try to get in to do an MA.’ She swallowed the last piece of her biscuit and reached for her tea.
The little boy, obviously tired of watching people eat and drink, extended his hands towards his mother and let out a squeal. Vicky gave him a tender smile. ‘You’ve only just had lunch, you know?’ She glanced up at Alice, a wistful look in her eye. ‘Just like his dad. Always eating.’
Chapter 13
Over the weekend, Alice settled down to research the First World War. She pulled out her laptop and set it up on the little table in her bedroom, looking out onto the garden. Since her last visit, the sunny weather had brought out more and more leaves and flowers. The garden looked fuller, the hedges thicker. She gazed out at the scene from time to time as she tried to take in the facts she read. Apart from ordering a couple of books on the war, she read her way through a number of websites dedicated to it. They made for sobering reading. The casualties were of epic proportions: sixteen million dead and twenty million wounded. For the first time, slaughter had been on an industrial scale.
As the sun dropped lower towards the horizon, she heard Mrs Tinker calling up to offer a cup of tea. She shut the laptop and headed downstairs, her mood darkened by her reading. There was no doubt in her mind, however, she was getting more and more interested in that period.
A mug of tea and packet of biscuits stood on the table. The Labrador came over to greet her and a
ccompanied her to her seat. He had already worked out that the chocolate Hobnobs were on the table. He sat down beside Alice and studied her every move. Today, however, she resisted the temptation.
‘So have you been having a little snooze?’ Mrs Tinker gave her a knowing look. Alice had returned from Beauchamp at four and it was now almost seven o’clock. ‘Tired after the journey down, I expect.’
‘No, that’s not it. You see, I promised myself, once I was settled in Devon, I would see if I could get a place at university to do an MA.’ She looked up, still trying to come to terms with the horrors she had read. ‘I’m thinking about going for the First World War.’ She took a mouthful of tea. ‘It’s a fascinating, if deeply sad period.’
‘Ah, the Great War. That’s what my dad always called it. It only became the First World War after 1939. Of course, the men who came home from the war in 1918 couldn’t have imagined that Europe would be stupid enough to start a second one so soon afterwards.’ Mrs Tinker gave a sigh. ‘My uncle Tony was killed quite early on.’
Alice nodded, remembering seeing the name Corporal A. J. Tinker on the Woodcombe war memorial. Of course, A for Anthony.
Mrs Tinker went on, a faraway look in her eyes as she scoured her memory. ‘My dad was one of the lucky ones. He had TB as a child. They wouldn’t take him for the trenches.’
‘I bet he was grateful.’
Mrs Tinker looked up, an expression of incomprehension on her face. ‘Anything but, Alice. All his life he regretted the fact that he hadn’t done his bit, as he put it. The fact that he would almost definitely have been killed didn’t come into it.’ She shook her head sadly, a tear in her eye.
Alice reached across and laid her hand on hers. Her mother had died several years ago and she had never known her father. Somehow this old lady would make a wonderful surrogate grandma, if not mum. She gave her hand a squeeze.
