* * *
Staring at the words on the page, my mind was in overdrive; this didn’t make any sort of sense to me at all. I reread the entry again. Sister? I racked my brains but I came up with nothing. My parents had told me my grandparents were dead, and now, even more surprisingly, it seemed my mum had a sister. Which would mean I might have an aunt somewhere.
There was only one thing for it – I carried on reading.
* * *
22 October 1960
* * *
This morning Mum confirmed that Alice will be spending the day with Julian’s family at Christmas. Christmas won’t mean anything to me this year without spending time with the ones who mean so much to me. I am deeply disappointed. I can picture myself sitting around the table with turkey and all the trimmings alongside my parents and no one will speak. Alice was always the one that made the conversation. I don’t mind admitting I cried into my pillow, not just because of Alice but because T will be spending it with his parents too. We talked about trying to meet, but I think it will be too difficult for him.
* * *
23 October 1960
* * *
T waved at me this morning on his way to work. He’s handsome and his smile is simply gorgeous.
* * *
24 October 1960
* * *
It’s Monday-night madness and tonight Ethel and I have our dancing shoes at the ready. I’m quite envious of her new shoes; they have a small heel. I am not allowed a shoe with a heel. We have matching skirts and there’s a live band playing at the memorial hall. I am excited. I love music; I can lose myself to the rhythm and dance all night. Fingers crossed T and George will be able to make it. My mum gave us the usual lecture about maintaining our good reputation in public. My mum should be grateful we don’t have the same standards as Tricia Lowe, because that girl certainly has a reputation. My mum worries too much. I doubt she was ever young and knew how to enjoy herself.
* * *
25 October 1960
* * *
T was a no-show last night. I was disappointed but something must have come up. I looked over my shoulder all night, watching the door, hoping he would show up, but he didn’t. I’m just having a few minutes upstairs by myself because Alice and Julian are due over very soon for afternoon tea. I’ve missed Alice. I hope I can go and stay with her soon.
* * *
27 October 1960
* * *
Yesterday dragged on and on. This morning couldn’t come soon enough. I waited for five minutes around the corner for T to drive past in his van. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him indicate and pull over. He doesn’t usually pull over. What a lovely surprise. He winked and handed me a small letter. My heart flipped. This is my third letter from T now. Ripping open the envelope, I stood on the edge of the street and read it. ‘One day, one day soon xx’ was all it said, but that was enough, for now. I was on cloud nine today. Today was a good day.
* * *
I was so engrossed in Violet’s writing that I was startled by the sudden ringing of the phone in the hallway. Rushing towards it, I picked up the receiver to find Robin on the other end. He and Lucinda were going to the pub for an hour and they asked me to join them. I politely declined. All I wanted to do this evening was to read more about Violet Porter. I hurriedly returned to the diary.
* * *
28 October 1960
* * *
Mum and Dad are trying to arrange a dinner party with the Smithells from Green Park. Green Park, I say! Everyone knows those houses are worth an absolute fortune. Mum was nearly hyperventilating when Mrs Smithells informed her she would check her diary and get back to her with a date at the earliest opportunity. She’s been pacing up and down the living room now for nearly fifteen minutes waiting for a date to be confirmed. She’s been hinting for a while that their son is a perfect gentleman and he would like to escort me to the exquisite Christmas party at Handover Place. I’m sure Winston Smithells is just as embarrassed as me regarding my mum’s matchmaking attempts. He may be what they call a ‘good catch’, but he’s not my catch. Handover Place is too posh; I would have to mind my Ps and Qs. And me in a posh dress … please! Mum told me I needed to grab this opportunity and if Winston became a permanent fixture in my life I wouldn’t want for anything. I thought about it for a minute, only a minute mind. Surely you needed to marry someone for love?
* * *
29 October 1960
* * *
During my lunch break today the inevitable happened. I’d nipped out from the farm on the sandwich run whilst Mum and Dad were tending to the livestock. T’s van was parked outside the bakery. I checked the registration a dozen times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Glancing through the window, I saw it was him. He looked gorgeous; the sleeves of his overalls were rolled up, revealing his strong tanned forearms – a perk of always working outdoors. He turned around and spotted me; immediately he flashed a beautiful grin. I felt my knees tremble. I blushed and looked at the ground in a coy manner. T opened the door and I got in.
Mum and Dad questioned me on my return – how had it taken nearly an hour and a half to buy sandwiches from the shop? Mum appeared angry, but I think that was more down to me missing Winston Smithells, who’d turned up unexpectedly at the farm to purchase some eggs. I, on the other hand, was relieved, more than relieved, that I’d missed him.
* * *
30 October 1960
* * *
I think my mum is being unreasonable. Tomorrow night I have been invited to a party at Ethel’s house; my mother has ordered me to refuse the invitation. I AM SIXTEEN. How can she order me to refuse such an invitation? She asked my dad to support her in this matter, but as usual he sloped off to the snug, clutching his newspaper – anything for a quiet life. I tried to talk to her but she reminded me this was her house and I lived under her roof. If Alice were here she’d have stuck up for me and persuaded Mum to let me go. Mum thinks Ethel is a bad influence; she thinks the girl will lead me astray. I am determined to go to the party. Ethel is my best friend; she’s fun, and just because she doesn’t live on Green Park that doesn’t mean she’s a criminal in any way, shape or form. I reminded my mum we do not live on Green Park either. My mum reminded me not to backchat my elders. I stomped out of the room.
* * *
I found myself smiling down at the diary after reading the last entry. It was clear that Violet Porter was a determined character. Rubbing my eyes, I yawned and stared through the open curtains of my bedroom window; the streetlight was shining outside. It must be getting late; the blue sky had already darkened. Glancing at my watch, I saw I’d been reading for nearly an hour and my eyes were beginning to droop. I wanted to read more; I wanted to discover more about Violet, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. I hadn’t told a soul what was in the safe, not even Jeannie. I felt a little bad about that because I was privy to her secret about the baby, but that’s the way I wanted it for now.
Shutting the book, I immediately opened it again.
I’d changed my mind. I was hooked; I couldn’t put the journal down. I promised myself I would only read a couple more entries then I must go to sleep.
I read on.
* * *
31 October 1960
* * *
Tonight Mum is watching me like a hawk. You would think I’m a child, not sixteen years old. Retiring to my bedroom at approximately 9 p.m., I muttered goodnight to my parents. Noticing my mum’s smug smile, she nodded in my dad’s direction, he mumbled goodnight and dropped his head back down in the direction of his newspaper. I’d already packed a small bag of party clothes and hidden it at the bottom of the wardrobe. Ethel was expecting me; we’d arranged it at lunchtime. T is involved in the plan.
* * *
1 November 1960
* * *
I got back home but it was the worst journey ever. It must have been after 2 a.m. There was a storm and the wind was so strong. A tree had been uprooted and wa
s lying across the road. T had to drive me the long way home in his van. The party was fantastic; Ethel and George are finally an item. I wish it were that easy for T and me. One day, he always says, one day.
Sneaking out of the house was easy. Once Mum and Dad were in bed they were out for the count. Mum plugs her ears to block out the noise of Dad’s snores and he’s such a heavy sleeper even an earthquake wouldn’t wake him. I crept downstairs and quietly closed the front door behind me.
I could see the headlights of T’s van waiting for me at the bottom of the track; the engine was running. I opened the doors to the back of his van and climbed in. The makeshift bed was still set up.
I began to change my outfit and I stripped my jumper over the top of my head. I noticed T’s eyes were transfixed; he was watching my every move in the mirror. We locked eyes and foolishly grinned at each other. Kneeling down, I playfully put my hands on my hips and gave him a cheeky smile. He whistled. Emptying my bag, I quickly changed my clothes then joined him in the front of the van.
He placed his hand on my knee; his touch was electric and sent shivers up and down my spine.
He moved his hand up my thigh.
I chastised him and moved it back to my knee. He kept it there all the way to the party.
When I got back home that night, I sneaked back in through the side door, which I’d unlocked before I left. The door leads through the boot run where the laundry is kept then into the kitchen.
There was silence.
My parents were still asleep.
I’d done it – they were none the wiser.
I think I love T.
* * *
Closing the diary, I bound it with the elastic band and placed it safely in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet. I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Alfie was still fast asleep. I wandered across the room to draw the curtains. Before shutting them I looked up into the night sky. I liked Aunt Violet; she had character, but why had my mum never told me she had a sister?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Next morning, after quite a restless sleep, I cycled up the path towards the Lodge. The air was nippy and all the trees that adorned the track were swaying in the brisk wind. The sky was dull and the clouds threatened rain. I wasn’t sure how I felt this morning. My mind was a whirl with unanswered questions. All I knew was that I had gained an unknown aunty overnight. Truth be known, I was wishing the day away; it couldn’t go quick enough. All I wanted to do was to stay tucked up under the duvet and read, but I knew with Jeannie not being able to do as much now that she was pregnant that this wasn’t possible, and we had such a lot to do today. Violet Porter’s diary would just have to wait.
Tom was shutting the front door of the cottage behind him as I arrived and he looked over in my direction.
‘Good morning,’ he shouted and waved his hand above his head.
I screeched to a halt right in front of him and placed both my feet on the ground to steady the bike.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask …’ I looked up at him.
‘Ooo, this sounds ominous!’ Tom joked.
‘Do you own Brambleberry Cottage?’
In truth, it had crossed my mind before, but I’d never asked the question. If the cottage was in the grounds of Bluebell Lodge, wouldn’t it be part of the estate?
I was intrigued.
Tom stretched his arms out in front of him and then glanced down at his watch.
I tilted my head, waiting for a response.
‘Lucinda will be here in around half an hour, but before then do you want to come inside for a chat?’ he asked, nodding towards the cottage.
‘Yes, I think I do,’ I answered, swinging my leg over my bike then resting it against the cottage wall.
Walking towards the cottage door, I tightened the band of my ponytail and tucked the escaped, windswept hair around my ears. I was conscious my heart was pounding and a feeling of trepidation ran through my entire body. We kicked off our boots at the front door, Tom twisted the door handle and I followed him inside,.
Walking on the quarry-tiled floor of the hallway, it felt cold underfoot. I’d never been inside before and the cottage oozed character with the exposed beams that ran the whole length of the ceiling. A wooden staircase adorned the hallway with a regal-looking burgundy carpet that disappeared out of sight. On the small round mahogany table sat a bottle-green telephone with its large disc dial and curled cable dangling from the receiver. Hanging all around on the bare stone walls were numerous time-worn embroidered samplers. Glancing into the sitting room, the furniture appeared sparse and simple. Everything seemed to be in its original state, like the cottage itself.
Grasping at the latch on the solid oak door to the kitchen, Tom pushed open the door and bent his head down under the low archway.
The kitchen was homely; an oversized pine farmer’s table was situated in the middle of the room. There were dirty breakfast dishes spilling over in the white Belfast sink and a newspaper that lay open on the granite worktop. Freshly baked crusty bread was sitting on the table, sliced, on a chunky wooden board with the knife lying next to it. The kitchen window was framed with floral curtains that looked out over fields and fields – the view was spectacular.
I could hear the noisy hum of an old refrigerator and I noticed a pile of Tom’s work clothes draped over the racing green Aga, probably drying.
‘Take a seat,’ Tom said, gesturing towards the kitchen table.
He reached above his head and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and placed them next to the kettle.
‘Tea?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please.’
After switching the kettle on, he sat himself down at the table opposite me.
This would have been the ideal time to tell Tom about Violet’s diary but I didn’t want to tell him yet. I was shocked to find out I had an aunty I knew nothing about and I wanted to read a little bit more before I confided in anyone about my find.
Cutting to the chase, I asked, ‘So the cottage, who does it belong to?’
Tom stood up and threw a couple of teabags into the teapot then poured the water in. He placed a tray on the table in front of me, which included mugs, sugar, milk and biscuits.
‘Help yourself,’ he said.
‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I said, pouring the milk into my mug.
‘The cottage belonged to your grandmother,’ Tom continued.
Sipping my tea, I listened in silence.
‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it all and I don’t think this is my story to tell, but all I know is Agnes couldn’t live here anymore.’
My heart was beating in double time waiting to hear what Tom was about to reveal.
‘Brambleberry Cottage has been in her family for years; this was her family home and she told me she spent her married life here. Agnes was a private person; she never meddled in anyone’s business. She worked hard and Arthur was her life; they ran the farm together. When he died her world changed. She threw herself into the Lodge and worked hard, probably to occupy her mind. I started to work here when I was a young man. Arthur had already died. Agnes took me under her wing. I failed all my exams at school and wasn’t what you would call academic. Agnes gave me a chance. I can remember her words: “School isn’t everything, lad. It’s a good attitude and hard graft that will get you far in life.” ’
I laughed as Tom mimicked my grandmother.
‘She told me she didn’t have a son to help her with the farm and I was the next best thing.’
‘So how long have you lived here?’
‘Once Arthur had passed away, Agnes carried on living here for another few years. They had always owned the flat on the high street and had rented it out to different couples. It was only in the last few years that she moved into it herself.’
‘Why would she want to move out of here?’ I asked, glancing around. ‘Look at this place. It’s so homely and those views are amazing.’
‘The circumstances were all ver
y peculiar, to say the least.’
‘Go on.’
‘One morning Agnes failed to turn up for work. I waited for another hour and thought maybe she was feeling unwell. The yard was busy, so once all the orders had been sorted I wandered over to the cottage. I knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. I had an uneasy feeling; it wasn’t like her, so I let myself in. I found Agnes sobbing her heart out at this kitchen table, holding a letter with a photograph.’
‘Sobbing? Did you find out why?’
‘No, just at that moment Ted walked in through the back door, muttering something about borrowing Agnes’s tractor to plough his fields.’
‘Robin and Jeannie’s father?’
‘Yes, Robin and Jeannie’s father. His tractor was in for repair.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Agnes stood up and brushed herself down and disappeared with Ted to fetch the keys to the tractor.’
I could sense there was more to this story.
Tom pushed the plate of biscuits in my direction.
‘Biscuit?’
‘Oh go on then,’ I answered. ‘I may as well live dangerously.’
Kitty's Countryside Dream Page 14
