Pulled by a Dream

by Kathryn Greenway

  “Miss Darrow?”

  Emily glanced up, to find Dr. Mitchell waving at her. He stood at the front gate of a charming thatched cottage, with trellis around the door, bare rose vines creeping all over it. She walked over to him, and it wasn’t until she drew closer that she saw the brass plaque beside the door. “This is your surgery?”

  He smiled. “I know. Beautiful, isn’t it? Where I grew up, the doctor’s surgery was located in a grim little modern building, with lots of parking spaces and no greenery in sight.” He wagged his finger at her. “And you are in trouble.” His grin belied his serious tone.

  She bit back a smile. “Oh, really? What am I supposed to have done?”

  “You’ve been in Fairdown how long now? And yet you haven’t registered with a GP.” He gave her a hard stare, his cheerful expression fading a little. “Unless there’s an issue, and you want to go elsewhere, of course. That’s your prerogative.”

  For a moment, she was confused, then she recalled her conversation with Fran. “No issues, I assure you. I just hadn’t got around to it.”

  He beamed. “Excellent. Well, no time like the present. Step into my parlor—or rather, my surgery. I don’t bite, and even if I did, I could patch you up afterwards, and make sure your shots were up to date.” Another grin.

  Emily decided she liked Dr. Mitchell. And he did have a point. Registering had been on her To Do list for the past month. She followed him down the pretty tiled path to the glossy, painted black door. Inside, she found herself in a central hallway, an oak staircase to one side of it, and doors leading off on either side. Dr. Mitchell led her through the left door, into a room where the low ceiling was crossed with heavy black beams, and the leaded window looked out into the lane. To the rear of the room was another door, and next to it was a wide desk. A woman sat there, smiling when she saw Emily.

  Dr. Mitchell walked up to the desk. “This is Sandra, my wonderful receptionist, but don’t let that smile fool you. She may look like she’s all sweetness and light, but Sandra used to be a nurse. In fact, she was a matron on a hospital ward, but when she retired, she decided to come and work for me part-time.” He winked at Emily. “Clearly a masochist.”

  Sandra chuckled. “He always says that to new patients. Makes me sound like I was an ogre, as well as implying you’d have to be mad to work here.” She gave him a grin. “All I can say is, it helps.” She handed Dr. Mitchell a clipboard with a form attached. “Your next patient isn’t for another hour, by the way.”

  “Wow. A slack day. Even better. I get more time to talk with my new neighbor.” The doctor beckoned Emily into the rear room. The surgery turned out to be a pleasant room, painted in a light yellow, with a desk, three chairs, and a doctor’s examination table. He gestured to one of the empty chairs in front of the desk, then took his seat behind it. He handed her the clipboard. “Fill in your details, then we can start the ball rolling and get your records from your last doctor.” He peered at her. “Anything I need to be aware of? Any illnesses, prior conditions, et cetera?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “Sorry to have to break it to you, but I am revoltingly healthy.”

  Dr. Mitchell rubbed his hands together briskly. “Great. I like healthy neighbors.”

  Emily began filling in her details, while the doctor peered at his monitor. On the desk next to his computer, sat a photo frame. She glanced at it, and he caught her looking. “This is my husband, Alan,” he said, turning the photo so she could see.

  It was then that she noticed the wedding band. “Oh.”

  Dr. Mitchell gazed fondly at his husband. “That was taken on our wedding day, three years ago. Your project manager, Jake, was my best man.”

  “Jake? But I thought….” Emily felt all kinds of foolish. Serves me right for assuming.

  The doctor leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced together. “What did you think?”

  “It’s nothing. I just got the wrong end of the stick, I think.” When Dr. Mitchell lifted his eyebrows, his lips twitching, she sighed. “All right, if you must know… When I saw you both in the Vale on Saturday, I had the impression that you were… in a relationship.”

  Dr. Mitchell stared at her, mouth open. Then he burst into laughter. “You thought Jake was gay?”

  “Bi, actually.” His reaction quelled some of her embarrassment. At least he hadn’t been offended by the suggestion.

  He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m sorry for laughing, but the idea of Jake and myself in a relationship….” He smiled. “He’s definitely not my type, apart from the whole ‘he’s straight’ thing.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “You’re obviously a woman with good business sense. Jake is damn good at what he does.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is, but right now, it’s not his woodworking skills that I have an issue with,” she murmured. When he gazed at her inquiringly, she shrugged. “Let’s just say, his timekeeping needs work. I saw him in the village just now, when he should have been at work.”

  The doctor’s brow furrowed, then he widened his eyes. “Oh. I saw him too. He’d just been to see Mr. Foster. In which case, I’d go easy on him, if I were you.”

  Emily stared at him. “Who is Mr. Foster?” Then something clicked. “Oh. Mrs. Foster used to run the tea shop.”

  Dr. Mitchell nodded. “Though that was before my time. We only moved to Fairdown ten years ago. Anyway, after his wife died, his son decided to emigrate to Australia with his wife and two children. Mr. Foster didn’t want to go with them. As if losing his wife wasn’t bad enough, his life took an even more catastrophic turn. His business pension fund collapsed, and his state pension is barely enough to keep him going. He wanted to stay in his home, but it’s an old house, and when it fell into disrepair, he couldn’t afford to fix it up.”

  Jake’s presence at the house began to make sense. “Let me guess. Jake is doing the repairs.”

  Dr. Mitchell nodded. “Yes, but a little at a time.” When Emily frowned, he smiled. “As far as Mr. Foster is concerned, the money to pay Jake for his services comes from a church fund, made up from donations. Of course, there’s no such fund, but Mr. Foster doesn’t know that, and if he knew Jake was paying for all the wood out of his own pocket, he’d be horrified. I assume Jake can only do so much at a time. Right now, things are a little tough for him.”

  “Why?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Times are hard. The economy is pretty weak. Few people want to have a barn built, and even fewer want sculptures.”

  “Sculptures?”

  He got up from behind his desk and walked over to the wooden cabinet. He picked up an object carved from a reddish wood, imbued with a warm glow. It was a pair of joined hands. “Jake made this for us as a wedding present. It’s based on photos of our hands, taken on our wedding day.” Dr. Mitchell handed it to Emily, who took it very carefully.

  The carving was exquisite. She marveled at the skill it must have taken to render the slim fingers, both hands bearing the smooth wedding bands. “Jake is clearly a man of many talents.” She handed it back to the doctor.

  Dr. Mitchell smiled once more. “He is indeed. By the way, I must ask you not to mention what I just told you about Mr. Foster. I only found out by accident.”

  “Didn’t Jake tell you?” Then she reflected. That didn’t sound like the Jake who hadn’t wanted to broadcast his private affairs. Jake wouldn’t share such information, just to make himself look good.

  He shook his head. “Jake didn’t say a word. Mr. Foster asked our local antiques dealer, Peter—”

  “Merryfeather,” Emily concluded with a smile. “Peter and I go way back.”

  The doctor’s face lit up. “Splendid! Well, he asked Peter to visit his home, to see if there were any pieces he could sell. Mr. Foster wanted to raise a little money to give to Jake as a thank-you for all his work. When Peter expressed confusion, Mr. Foster told him all about the ‘fund’, and how Jake was doing the work on behalf of the church, who were recompensing Jake for
his time and supplies.”

  Emily’s first reaction was one of relief. She’d been right about Jake, after all.

  She handed over the clipboard. “Finished.”

  Dr. Mitchell took it, glancing down the sheet. “That all seems to be in order. I’ll send you a letter, introducing you to the surgery, once I have your records from your old GP. In the meantime, if you need any medical advice, my door is always open.”

  Emily couldn’t resist. “Except when you’re in the Vale with Jake.”

  He laughed. “We don’t get together half as much as we used to, I’m sad to say. But when Alan’s away on business…” He gave her a sheepish glance. “What must I sound like?” Then he chuckled. “Actually, I know exactly what I sound like. You wouldn’t think we’ve been together for twenty years.”

  His obvious love and adoration of his husband sent a pang through Emily’s heart. “I think it’s wonderful. All these years, and you still miss him when he’s not there.” What startled her was the yearning that bubbled up from some place deep inside her. I want someone to miss me like that. To love me like that.

  It wasn’t too much to ask—was it?

  Emily stepped out of the barn and sniffed the crisp air. Everywhere were signs that Spring was about to make its entrance, and she welcomed it with open arms. In the garden, tulips and hyacinths were poking their heads through the dark soil, as well as bluebells and lilies of the valley. Earth was waking from its slumbers, sending out greenery in slow tendrils, covering the ground, shrubs and trees with their first tinge of color.

  The click of the kettle behind her pulled her back to finish making her tea. From the house came the faint, not-so-tuneful whistling of the electrician, Tom Martin. He was a likeable guy, forever with his earpods stuck firmly in his ears, singing along merrily as he murdered songs by the Police, Abba, Queen, and the Rolling Stones. What he lacked in musical talent, however, he made up for with his work. Tom worked carefully and methodically, always cleaning up after himself at the end of each day.

  On a shelf above the kettle sat a stainless steel insulated mug. Emily regarded it with interest, then smiled. She made two cups of tea, but poured one of them into the stainless-steel mug. Its lid secured, she strolled over to the house. Tom was in the kitchen, at work with a power tool, chasing out channels in the wall. At his feet lay boxes and bags, containing mounting boxes and sockets. Across the wall, he’d fixed a wooden baton. Emily figured that was where the worktops would go. Tom was moving to whatever music filled his ears, but he pulled out an earbud when he caught sight of her.

  “Hey, boss. What can I do for you?”

  Emily smiled at the familiarity. “Is Jake about?”

  Tom inclined his head toward the door that led to the rear of the house. “He’s on a break. I think I saw him walking toward the end of the garden.”

  “Thanks.” She nodded toward his wall chaser. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  He grinned and gave a mini salute.

  Emily walked out of the house and down the long, cobbled path that bisected the garden. Once the house was finished, she had plans to bring the gardens back to their former glory. Jane and Clare had grown their own vegetables and fruit, but everything had withered from neglect. The pond needed cleaning, its water dark green with algae. She couldn’t ask Ted to do the work—he was getting on in years—but she supposed he might have an idea of who to contact.

  The bottom of the garden was marked by the stone wall she recalled from her childhood. An archway had been built into the middle of it, and set into that was a gate that led to the meadows beyond, and eventually, the lake. As she neared the wall, she caught Jake’s voice, but he was nowhere in sight. It sounded as though he was having a conversation, and Emily reasoned he was on his phone.

  “You need to be more careful. How are you going to be able to make honey if you get caught like this?” Jake’s voice was soft, tender even.

  Emily cocked her head to one side, puzzled by what she’d heard. She was about to walk back to the house, when Jake spoke again.

  “I know, I know. I’m doing the best I can. Now stop buzzing those wings at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  It was no use. Now she had to see.

  Emily crept up to the wall and peered over it. Jake was crouched down next to a shrub, its branches still bare. Then she saw who he’d been talking to. A bee had got caught in a web, and Jake was freeing it with a feather, gently removing the silk from its wings. As she watched, he brushed off the last of it, and the bee took off, heading out toward the meadow.

  The whole scene had charmed her beyond belief.

  Emily cleared her throat, and Jake gave a start. She held out the insulated mug. “Sorry to disturb your… conversation, but I thought you might like some tea.”

  A flush crept across Jake’s cheeks, and he gave a cough. He rose to his feet and took the mug. “Thank you. That was a nice thought.”

  She smiled, then turned to retreat along the path.

  “Wait! I’ll walk with you.”

  She paused, and Jake came through the gate. He followed her up the narrow path. “This is such a shame,” he murmured.

  Instinctively, Emily knew he referred to the plight of the gardens. “You remember them as they were?”

  “Yes. When I first came to the village, Jane asked me to do some repairs on Ted Pelshaw’s cottage. That was in 2002.” A sigh escaped him. “Jane and Clare loved the gardens.”

  “True. And when the house is finished, the gardens are next on the list.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Emily stopped at the door. Inside, Tom was singing Roxanne at the top of his voice.

  Jake smirked. “I don’t see an application to be on Britain’s Got Talent in his future somehow.”

  Emily stifled a giggle. “I can’t think what you mean,” she said innocently.

  Jake stared at her for a minute, then grinned. He pushed open the door, and followed her into the house. In the kitchen, Jake watched Tom at work for a moment, before tapping him on the shoulder. Tom stopped the music and pulled out his earbuds.

  Jake turned to Emily. “What size tiles are you having above the worktops? I know you have told me, but I don’t have my notes on me.”

  “Traditional six-inch square tiles.”

  Jake nodded. “You hear that, Tom? Six by six.” He smiled. “I know what you’re like. You always try to put the sockets too high. Six by six.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, I got it!” He stuffed his earbuds in, clicked his iPod, and went back to humming along to the Police.

  Jake shook his head, still smiling. He turned to Emily. “I know we’re still a way off from tiling the kitchen, but have you chosen the tiles yet?”

  “No, not yet.” An ache spread through her chest, and she sighed.

  Jake stilled. “What just passed through your mind?”

  “Nothing much. It’s just that… when I had the design business, I used Clare’s tiles. Not exclusively, you understand. She had these white tiles, on which she painted wildflowers from the meadow. I used to dot them among the plain white tiles as accents.” She smiled wistfully. “All gone now.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. “Can I go into the barn for a minute?”

  Puzzled, she nodded. “Of course.” He put down his mug and dashed out of the house.

  Emily gazed around her, remembering the sage green AGA stove that had always been lit, often with delicious aromas issuing from it. She’d asked Jake to have it checked over, and if it still functioned, and met the regulations, she wanted it reinstalled.

  “Here.” Jake came through the kitchen door, his arms full of five cardboard boxes. “I found these when I was working on the barn.” He placed them carefully on the floor and opened one up.

  Emily gasped when she saw the familiar wildflowers. “Oh my.”

  Jake’s blue eyes were warm. “These are the last ones. I thought you might like to use them in here.”

  Emily’s throat tight
ened. She crouched down and carefully removed a single tile, tracing its design with her finger. She put it back in the box and got to her feet, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

  “Thank you, Jake.” The words weren’t nearly enough to convey the joy that surged through her.

  Jake’s face flushed. “I’m glad I remembered where I put them. And now I think my break is well and truly over.” He picked up the mug from where he’d left it. “Thank you again for the tea. I’ll return this to you when I finish for the day.”

  “There’s no hurry.” Emily left them to their tasks, and walked out of the house, heading for the barn.

  Jake continued to surprise her, something Emily liked very much.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the village Spring Fete!” Fran hooked her arm through Emily’s, strolling beside her as they investigated all the stalls. The lanes around the village green had been closed off to traffic, and were now full of booths and stands. Beside the war memorial, the village brass band played, and the air was filled with their melodies.

  “I was always at school when it took place, that’s why.” Emily loved the colorful bunting that stretched out between lamp posts, and the bustle of activity on the green itself, where a race course had been set up. Already, she’d watched the children’s egg and spoon race, the sack race, not to mention the parent-and-child three-legged race. All along the track, the participants were cheered on by family and friends.

  White awnings covered the food stalls, where local produce such as cheese, meat and bread could be bought. Plastic garden chairs sat in front of the temporary bandstand for those who wanted to rest their feet, and not far from there was the tea tent, providing hot and cold drinks, cakes and toasted teacakes and crumpets. Despite the nip in the air, the ice cream stall was doing a roaring trade.