Monday arrived and after the school run it was back to the decorating. Doris was very interested in the changes and in particular the smell in the living room but, once she had settled down, Beth got on with finishing the painting.
Beth had her music on loud while she stood on Simon’s borrowed stepladder and gave the ceiling its second coat. She had her head tilted to the ceiling as she rollered merrily and wasn’t aware that Doris had moved and that she’d come up close to investigate. The stepladder wobbled precariously when Doris landed her great paws on the steps on the opposite side to Beth. Beth immediately brought down her hands to steady herself but in so doing the hand gripping the paint-clad roller accidentally whacked Doris on the head.
‘Sorry, Doris!’ said Beth instinctively as the paint-splattered dog retreated quickly. Beth then spent the next twenty minutes trying to coax Doris to come to her and stay long enough so that she could wash the paint off her head. She couldn’t send her home looking like a punk badger.
The last of the dog treats and two slices of leftover beef later, Doris had a wet but paint-free head and a more cautious look in her eye.
‘Now don’t go and rat on me to Jack,’ Beth whispered to Doris, who grumbled and settled down for a nap in the hallway, keeping one eye trained on Beth.
The rest of the day’s decorating went without incident and Beth proudly surveyed the results. She was pleased with herself and had to admit that she had enjoyed it. Perhaps doing the rest of the cottage wouldn’t be such a chore after all?
Jack had been correct about the painting. She doubted very much that she would expressly tell him that but, looking over the finished walls, she knew he had been right. They were never intended to be perfectly smooth; plastering would have erased a little of the cottage’s history. The walls were smooth to the touch but when the light bounced off the surface the imperfections and undulations could be seen, and Beth liked it. Now it was time to make it look like it was lived in.
Chapter Seventeen
Beth’s first night of working at the Bleeding Bear loomed large and she felt first-night nerves. She was going over to the pub only a few minutes early for Petra to show her the ropes, even though Beth had suggested that perhaps a day’s training might be more appropriate for a novice like her. Petra had insisted that, once you had the knack, pulling a good pint was the easiest thing in the world and the till was child’s play. Beth remained sceptical on both counts.
She showered, changed, checked she didn’t have paint in her hair, did a delicate job on her make-up, and surveyed the result as best she could in her pocket mirror. It was difficult to tell. She knew her hair badly needed cutting because it hadn’t seen a stylist since she’d left London, so she tied it back in a rough pleat. Leo was very happy to be spending the evening somewhere that had a television and free-flowing crisps and fizzy drinks.
In theory, the job was ideal. Granted, it was a world away from her city job but it was a new challenge and a chance to get to know a few more people. She was fretting a bit but she was quite excited too. Her life was different now; she was different. I’m enjoying being Beth again. I’m not Elizabeth any more, I never really was, she thought. Beth definitely wasn’t the gullible woman who had fallen for Nick’s charms, or the pliable individual he had subsequently moulded. She was back to being her old independent self and this was where she took the next step.
The pub was a little eerie without any customers as her heels reverberated on the wooden floors. The echo was repeating itself somewhere in the pit of Beth’s stomach. How daft to be nervous, she thought, but sometimes nerves and fears weren’t rational and rarely were they controllable. She realized that she wanted to be good at something again, which had added a little more pressure to the situation. Beth took off her coat and looked around the empty pub. It was exactly how you would expect a country pub to be: lots of beams, nooks and crannies and a big fireplace that was blackened with the memories of the past. Petra appeared and her smile dissolved any nerves Beth was harbouring.
‘You came! Let me start with a simple pint,’ said Petra, and so her training began. As she had expected, she didn’t do well the first time she pulled a pint, nor the second nor the third, but after that she had a feel for it as well as the feel of beer on her jeans. But it was okay. She was smiling and to her surprise she was enjoying it.
Her first evening was a quiet one, which helped, and Petra was on hand like a mother bird hovering nearby to keep a watchful eye on her fledgling. Beth had a slack few minutes and was wondering why they didn’t have a bar stool on her side of the bar when Petra returned from checking on the kitchen, and handed her a lemon.
‘In between the customers you do everything else: chop lemon for drinks, check crisp stocks, collect glasses from tables and bar, load dishwasher, unload glasses from dishwasher and wipe down and tidy up.’
‘Right,’ said Beth, as she set about slicing the lemon. Petra was right, there was always something to do and as soon as there was a gap between customers Petra was using it to explain something else to Beth. The real ales were a bit of a worry to Beth and she felt she ought to try to learn them as homework.
When there was a brief pause, Beth seized the chance to chat to Petra. ‘I hadn’t appreciated how intense it is running the bar and the kitchen.’
Petra grinned. ‘I love it. My kitchen staff are excellent so they don’t really need me. A young keen chef is a godsend. And this’, she waved her hand over the bar top, ‘is all I’ve known since I came to England.’
‘But you didn’t come to work in a bar. Did you?’
‘No. I came to study.’ Petra looked uncharacteristically serious.
‘What happened?’
Petra was staring at Beth, her expression grave. Beth wanted to reach out and reassure her but she didn’t know why. Petra shook her head and the solemn moment was gone. ‘I’m not as clever as I thought I was,’ she said, with a forced laugh.
‘You’re very good at running a bar though,’ said Beth and she meant it. ‘You’re wasted here. You could be earning serious money as an office manager in London,’ she added with feeling.
Petra chuckled and shook her head. ‘I would hate an office. Here I have my regulars and I meet new people all the time. It may not pay the big bucks but it pays enough and the pub is mine … apart from the huge mortgage of course!’ She laughed again and went towards the other end of the bar even before the next punter had fully walked inside, and greeted them warmly.
Beth pondered their conversation for a moment. She’d not seen Petra look as tense as she did when she spoke about giving up her studies. Another customer approached the bar and Beth went into efficient barmaid mode and the thought was lost.
When they were down to five customers, Petra sent her home.
‘You did well tonight. Very well,’ said Petra.
‘Thanks,’ said Beth, feeling ridiculously pleased with herself. A tired Leo staggered into view and the weary duo wended their way the few short steps back to Willow Cottage and their beds.
On a bleak frosty morning, Jack walked past the carpet delivery van that was parked outside Willow Cottage. The front door was already open. He unclipped Doris’s lead and handed it to Beth and Doris trotted happily into the cottage.
‘You might have wanted to get the chimney checked and cleaned before you had the carpet fitted,’ called Jack as he sauntered away.
Beth faltered in the doorway; she couldn’t look at him but she knew he was radiating smugness. He had walked too far before Beth had a chance to reply. She stuck her tongue out at his back. It was childish but it made her feel better. She watched as the almost white carpet was pulled from the van.
‘Hang on!’ yelled Beth at the two startled carpet fitters while she jogged over to them. ‘I’m really very sorry but you can’t fit the carpet today.’
After a lot of huffing, two mugs of sweet tea and half a packet of custard creams, the carpet fitters took the carpet away so that she could arrange a fittin
g at a later date. A few frantic phone calls later and Beth had found an actual chimney sweep who was able to come round later that day. She didn’t like having the confrontation with the carpet fitters but getting the chimney cleaned first was the smart thing to do and she was pleased that a potential crisis had been averted. But why did Jack have to know best?
Beth found herself humming the ‘Chim Chim Cher-ee’ song from Mary Poppins on and off throughout the day so when the chimney sweep finally arrived, and disappointingly looked nothing like Dick Van Dyke, she had to make a concerted effort to suppress the urges to continue humming. He was an older gentleman and knew everything there was to know about chimneys and fireplaces. He soon got to work, starting first with a chimney inspection inside and out.
When he carried in the brushes Beth decided to leave him to it. After a while, she brought him a cup of tea and was shocked to see the large boxful of twigs, ash and unidentifiable charred remains that had been removed from the chimney.
‘Birds’, he said with a firm nod, ‘like to nest in chimneys. I’ve put a bird cowl on the top of it to stop ’em.’
‘Great,’ said Beth. She had no idea what that was but if it stopped the twig mess she was pleased.
‘Found this an’ all,’ he said, handing Beth a crispy piece of scorched paper. ‘Bit of history.’ He smiled, and started to pack away.
Beth carefully unfolded the brown tinged paper and her heart clenched as she read the clumsy writing of a small child.
Dear Father Christmas
Ernie and I have tried all year to be good for Mummy.
For Christmas I would like the new Rupert Bear book, a pencil box, soldiers and a pair of gloves.
Love Wilfred
P.S. Ernie would like an orange scarf and any little toys you have spare.
Beth looked back at the fireplace. It was amazing that the letter had survived.
‘Caught on a ledge,’ said the chimney sweep as if anticipating her next question. ‘Sweet, isn’t it?’
‘It’s pure magic,’ said Beth, swallowing down her emotions. She went to the kitchen, opened her favourite cookbook and stowed the letter safely inside. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it but she knew she had to keep it safe.
Beth paid the bill and the chimney sweep gave her a certificate to say her chimney was checked and safe to use.
Right, thought Beth, now to rearrange the huffing carpet fitters.
Fergus had not been quite himself since they’d met Nick at the pub and Carly was running out of opportunities to tell him about the contract for her to interpret at the pantomime. The contract was actually a signed and posted one because Carly had decided she definitely wanted to do it and now she was worrying about how Fergus would react. They had been together three years and had rarely had a night apart, the exception being the recent treehouse debacle, which she knew had caused issues for Fergus. He didn’t like having to explain to people that he was deaf and, as soon as he did, half would then instantly start talking to him like he was an idiot. Carly was quite proud of him for getting home on his own without any issues but she knew it wouldn’t have been easy. So, with more than a little trepidation, she decided now was the time to tackle the pantomime.
Fergus was looking morose as he scrolled through his catalogue of music he could no longer hear on his mobile.
‘I’ve had an exciting job offer,’ signed Carly. Fergus twitched but didn’t show a lot of interest. Undeterred she continued. ‘It’s to do a pantomime.’
Fergus gave a sly smile. ‘Oh no it’s not.’
‘Very funny, I expect there’ll be a lot of that. So you don’t mind?’
‘Why would I mind?’
Carly realized that the key piece of information had been omitted. ‘It’s in Gloucester. There will be a rehearsal and a couple of shows. I thought I could stay with Beth.’
Fergus had stopped smiling. ‘Why can’t you come home afterwards?’
‘I can but they usually finish late and I thought it would be nice to stay with Beth.’
‘You said the cottage is a shithole.’
Carly chuckled. ‘It was, but she’s doing it up a bit at a time and it’s liveable now.’
‘Can I come?’
Carly felt like she was about to kick a puppy. ‘What would you do while I was working?’ Fergus shrugged his shoulders. ‘To be honest, I thought it would be nice to have some time with Beth.’
‘Okay.’ Fergus looked doleful.
‘Okay, I can go?’
Fergus was frowning. ‘I’d never stop you doing anything you wanted to do. I don’t ever want to be the one that holds you back.’ Things were feeling serious.
‘I know. I’ve sent off the contract anyway.’
‘Then why ask?’ Fergus’s signing actions were getting jerky. It was a sign he was getting cross; when they started getting really big that was when to worry.
‘I was being polite,’ signed Carly. Fergus’s eyebrows twitched and it irritated Carly. ‘I’m not a comfort blanket.’
‘You’re my carer now, are you?’ said Fergus but before Carly could respond he was already leaving the room. He picked up his coat and headed for the front door. There was no point calling after him, so she just watched him leave. When you were deaf you got the last word or at least the last one to be heard.
The willow tree now offered no protection from the elements, having lost most of its leaves. However, Ernie still liked to sit under it. Beth looked out of the bare window and took in the sight of the willow covered in frost. It sparkled in the morning sun and had a distinctly magical feel to it. It was too early for Ernie. It was too early for most people but today Jack was dropping off Doris sooner than usual and she watched him stop for a moment and take in the beauty of the tree before he knocked on the door.
Doris barged past the moment the door was opened; she was now very comfortable in her adopted home and nicely settled in the routine.
‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ said Beth, as Jack was glancing over his shoulder for another look at the willow’s crystal-encrusted fronds.
‘It’s the hoar frost that gives it that look,’ Jack explained and Beth nodded politely although she had no idea what hoar frost was. ‘Anyway, I was actually thinking that now’s the time to cut it back,’ he said, with a smile. His smile grew into a beaming grin as he looked at Beth. She wondered for a moment what it was then she remembered she was still wearing her pink unicorn onesie.
‘It’s cold. This is warm.’ Embarrassed, she tugged on the unicorn horn protruding from the hood.
‘I didn’t say a word,’ said Jack, stifling a laugh. ‘I think it … suits you.’ He could no longer hold back the laughter. Beth laughed too and took a pretend swipe at him.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said. His eyebrows danced and he handed her the sander.
‘Fully charged,’ he said. ‘But it still might not make it to the end of the kitchen floor.’
‘Thanks, this unicorn has a busy day ahead,’ she said playfully. ‘See you later – and thank you, Jack.’ Beth had investigated the costs for hiring proper floor sanders and it had put her off. Jack’s hand sander wasn’t designed for the job, but the kitchen floor surface was quite small, especially with all the cabinets in place, and Beth was very much embracing the rustic look so if it wasn’t perfect that was okay with her.
She was methodical in her approach and spent the next few hours inching her way across the kitchen, sanding down very old floorboards that had been hidden for years under dirt and grime. Viewed from her kneeling position, it looked damn near perfect and she was particularly pleased with herself for her hard graft and for the money she’d saved. Being in one position for a few hours had taken its toll on Beth’s back. It was no longer flexible, it had gone rigid and every sinew of her neck and shoulders ached. She eventually straightened up her fatigued body.
Despite the top section of the stable door and window being open all day, there was still so much dust in t
he air it was like she’d stuck her head in a cloud. The mask Jack had given her, back in the summer, was now past its best and she let it hang round her neck on the elastic. Beth twisted and turned in an attempt to loosen up her stiff muscles when a keen wind blew in and swirled the dust around, making her cough.
She held her aching back as each cough jarred it a little more.
‘You look well,’ said Petra from the other side of the stable door.
Beth opened the bottom half and Petra stood back when the wind swirled the dust in her direction.
‘Sorry!’ coughed Beth, trying to usher a reluctant Leo inside. Petra covered her mouth and nose with her hand, peered into the kitchen and looked over the floor.
‘Wow, that is beautiful, Beth.’ She was right, it was beautiful. The years of use had given it an original patina and oodles of character. All that was left to do to the floor was to finish it with a hard-wax oil but that would have to wait until the weekend when there was no Doris, and Leo was playing at the pub.
‘You look like a ghost,’ said Leo with a grin as he traipsed past his mother. ‘Denis is practising penalties on the green. Can I go too?’
‘Yes, if you change out of your school uniform,’ she said over her shoulder and Leo ran upstairs.
‘You do look like a ghost,’ chuckled Petra.
‘Thanks, friend,’ said Beth as she ruffled her own hair with her fingers and sent yet more dust in Petra’s direction.
‘I remember my father doing this back home,’ said Petra, waving away the dust cloud. ‘It is tough work.’
‘Do you see much of your parents?’ asked Beth, brushing herself down.
Petra seemed to freeze. She shook her head, then relaxed a fraction. ‘No. We don’t speak.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame, especially for Denis.’
‘It is.’ Petra was staring at the floor.
‘I can’t imagine not speaking to my folks. I haven’t seen them for a while and I hate that, but we talk on the phone.’ Beth waited but Petra didn’t speak. She was still staring at the floor, her expression one of solemn thought. ‘Can’t whatever it is be fixed?’ asked Beth tentatively, although she was very aware that she was intruding into Petra’s thoughts.
Escape to Willow Cottage Page 16
