Dream Cottage

by Harriet J Kent

  “I was lucky enough to be born on the Island,” Greta announced to Ardi across the table. “And I so love to visit; in fact, Max and I have been thinking about moving over… urgh!” She stopped talking as Max persuasively stepped on her toe.

  “Oh darling! Is that true? Is it true, Maxim?” Jeanne stopped eating and gawped first at Greta and then Max. “Tell me it’s true!” she demanded. Her eyes were large and searching. She leaned across the table in anticipation.

  “We have been thinking about it, Jeanne, but that’s all, just thinking. We have to consider my work; I couldn’t possibly leave my job.”

  “No, that’s right, my boy. Especially when you are expecting a bonus later in the year.” Charles wiped his mouth on his crimson coloured paper napkin and looked on intently.

  “Poor you, Max. Once Greta gets the bit between her teeth…” Leo mused and continued shovelling cabbage into his mouth. “She’s like a clapped out old nag!”

  “Oh darling, it would be lovely to have you living back on the Island. The father and I would be so happy.” Jeanne cooed and raised her wine glass in a premature toast. “To the happy couple and their return to the Island! But what about your job, darling?” Jeanne added.

  “As I said, we are only just thinking about it, Jeanne. Nothing is set in concrete,” Max tried his tactical placation without success.

  “Where would you live, dear? Near us? Or perhaps a cottage near the sea?” Jeanne continued. Her face was aglow with excitement. “I could start trawling the estate agents for you. I would so love to help!”

  “I don’t know, mummy. We need to have a look around; see what is available. But it will probably be in the countryside.”

  “As long as there aren’t any spiders lurking about!” Leo glanced with squinted eyes at his sister. “Or tables!”

  “Don’t be stupid Leo; I’ll be okay with them,” Greta took a gulp of wine. “It was an unfortunate accident, nothing more. I’m fine now.”

  “Yeah, sure! The arachnid just about stole the show.” Leo had a knack of bringing up past events; always the memorable ones, always involving his sister.

  “I will be fine with the sp…” Greta took another swig of wine.

  “Seeing as you can’t even say their name; I very much doubt if you will be,” Leo returned. “S.P.I.D.E.R!”

  “Darling! Please don’t be so beastly to your sister.” Jeanne looked sternly at Leo who shrugged his shoulders, laughed and continued to eat.

  “This is a beautiful place; just look at the views from here,” Ardi swung her fork around in the air and pointed across the valley. “Look, open space, views of the sea; the downs, what more could you ask for?” She flicked her flowing blonde ponytail with her other hand.

  Leo stopped eating.

  “Anyway, why would you want to leave your comfy lifestyle in the smoke? All those nights out at the theatre, restaurants on tap, a decent job… you would be a fool to want to leave all that behind to come back to this pile of…” Leo broke off as his mother looked at him in disapproval; instead he finished his meal.

  Greta didn’t answer. She wasn’t even listening to Leo. She had momentarily slipped into one of her daydreams. She stared out across the valley; across the green meadows and patchworks of fields, enveloped by lush green hedgerows, that were home to a varied selection of cattle and sheep. She looked out towards the coastline, to the sea and could just make out the chimneys at Fawley Power Station on the mainland. Her eyes were suddenly focussed on an old cottage in a closer proximity. She could just make out that farm buildings surrounded it. She frowned and stared.

  “Isn’t that right, dear?” Jeanne’s voice pierced the bubble that Greta had found herself swimming within.

  “What, mummy?” She returned from her mesmerised trance to the table.

  “Never mind. Now who wants dessert?” she called out.

  “I fancy a walk before dessert,” Greta said. She folded her paper napkin and placed it on to the table. “Do you fancy a walk, Max? Leo? Arid… sorry, Ardi?”

  “Oh that sounds like fun, darling. The father and I will sit here and let our meals go down, oh and keep the table; you know how busy it is, we could lose our place if we came too. Please decide what you want for dessert before you go and we’ll order. What do you think? Ready for half an hour’s time. Will that be long enough?”

  “I think half an hour will be fine.” Greta rose from the table and smiled at her parents. “Quite long enough, thank you.”

  Max, Leo and Ardi grabbed their coats and followed Greta from the Smuggler’s Hide down the main road towards a narrow lane that led down towards the cottage.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Leo gasped as he caught up with Greta, who was setting a brisk pace. She strode off in front of the little group.

  “Down there,” she pointed to the cottage. “I caught sight of it when we were in the pub; when Ardi was talking about the views and the valley. Just by chance… I saw it.”

  “What? That dilapidated hovel over there?” Leo asked as he threw his scarf over his shoulder, just missing Ardi who was clutching hold of his arm. She trotted alongside him, almost breaking into a canter to keep up.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Leo! As per usual!” Greta snapped. “We haven’t even got there yet.”

  “Well, it’s the only place in the vicinity, so I must be right. Oh god! Look it’s partly boarded up! What a shit hole!” he crudely exclaimed.

  “There’s a fingerpost. It’s a public footpath that leads towards the town.” Greta crossed the road without checking for traffic. “It looks like it goes directly past the cottage. So we will be quite within our rights to walk down there.”

  “Max, mate. Heed the warning, there could be trouble ahead!” Leo joshed. Max sighed but continued to follow Greta who was striding purposefully down the unmade grassy track, towards the cottage. She splashed in and out of the puddles and potholes that laid on the surface.

  “It seems pretty grim, sis. Looks like it’s been empty for a while. We can’t even look through the windows to see the rooms. Anyway, you don’t know what might be lurking about inside. It’s will more than likely to be haunted. Whoooooooooo!” He mimicked a ghostly noise and flapped his arms and twiddled his fingers above his head.

  “You are such a child, Leo; one day you will grow up! Won’t that be a shame?” Greta hissed as she fiercely pinched one of Leo’s cheeks until he cried out.

  “I have to admit that it’s a great location.” Max was quietly surveying the area, the overgrown gardens and the outbuildings. “There’s a lot here; by the look of it, just needs some TLC.”

  They reached the end of the track before it led off through an overgrown narrow pathway. They stood outside the cottage. It was very still and quiet; no birdsong, no wind, no noise. The skies were gun metal grey and heavy with cloud. There was a hint of rain. Greta unlatched the clasp on the rusty front garden gate and slowly made her way up to the front of the cottage. As she did so, a light breeze blew across her face making her hair ruffled. Max, Leo and Ardi followed in silence. Ardi continually looked over her shoulder.

  “Max, mate; it looks like you could be suckered in at any moment!” Leo warned as he stepped over trailing lines of brambles that adorned the pathway. “Drawn into the depths of a festering shell! A costly hellhole!”

  “I wonder who owns it.” Greta gently ran her fingers over the roughly filled Island stone walls. A small piece of masonry fell to the ground. She felt a warmth flow across her hand, like an invisible pulse.

  “Perhaps someone at the pub might know its history,” suggested Ardie as she continued to cling tightly to Leo’s arm.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Greta continued to touch the walls with her fingertips. She walked along the garden, still touching the surface. “There’s something about this place; it seems to be… I don’t know… it has a good feeling about it.”

  “You mean it has a feeling of it being a ghostly bottomless money pit!” L
eo squawked close in Greta’s ear, making her jump.

  “Shut up!” Greta snapped and pushed Leo away with such force both he and Ardi, who was still holding Leo’s arm, lost their footing amongst lengthy brambles and ended up sprawled in the long, wet grass.

  “Only joking! It’s true what they say though, isn’t it.” Leo helped Ardi to her feet and she hurriedly brushed her coat down to remove any grass strands and droplets of water. She roughly rearranged her hair. “The truth always hurts!”

  “Come on, let’s get back to the pub, by the time we walk back, the half hour will be up. Do you know what you ordered for pudding?” Max reached out and took Greta’s hand.

  “I don’t think I ordered anything. No doubt mummy will have chosen something appropriate. A bit like your choice of the muffin intended for me on the ferry.”

  Max laughed and they walked arm in arm back to the pub. Leo and Ardi trailed behind. Ardi looked around her in a birdlike fashion, adjusting her scarf around her neck.

  “Greta is so lucky to have a husband like Max. He always tries to please her,” Ardi remarked as they walked.

  “Isn’t she just,” Leo snapped. He kicked at a small stone along the lane. It tripped along the tarmac until it ended up on the unkempt grass verge.

  “You don’t seem very impressed,” Ardi replied. She stopped and looked at Leo. “What’s wrong, Leo?”

  Leo shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t know. It always seems that what Greta wants, Greta gets. It’s always been the same, ever since we were kids.”

  “So,” Ardi probed. “It would appear that you are a little… um… jealous of Greta?”

  “No!” Leo was on the defensive.

  “But you seem as though you are,” Ardi continued. “Is that why you always make fun of her?”

  Leo sighed.

  “All right, yes, okay! So I am jealous of her. She always gets her own way; even with our parents. She has always hogged the limelight. She always falls on her feet. I have to work for everything; I don’t get anything offered on a plate. Are you happy now?”

  “No, course I’m not ‘appy. I am sad, if you are sad.” Ardi clung tightly to Leo’s arm. They were some distance away from Greta and Max, who had almost reached the Smuggler’s Hide.

  “One day, you too will have some luck. I will make sure of it!” Ardi soothed.

  “Come on, we are here now. Let’s enjoy our dessert! Forget about your worries!”

  Jeanne hastily greeted them upon their return to the pub. Greta and Max were at the bar ordering coffee.

  “Oh darlings! There you are. The father is so desperate to eat his dessert. He has been staring at it for the last ten minutes. Torture for him! Absolutely torturous! Here, sit down. Leo darling, I have ordered sticky toffee pudding, one dessert, two spoons, for you both. Maxim, I decided you were in the mood for biscuits and a selection of Island cheeses! And Greta, lemon meringue pie and clotted Island cream!” Jeanne distributed the appropriate plates to their intended recipients.

  “Mummy, we have just come across a really lovely cottage. It’s the one over there!” Greta carried a tray of coffee and indicated with her head towards the window as her parents desperately tried to focus on where she meant. She placed the tray on their table and pointed and Jeanne gasped.

  “Oh, yes, I see that little place. I can just make it out in the distance. Yes, it looks very quaint, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you know who owns it?” Greta asked.

  Her mother shook her head.

  “Sorry darling, no, we haven’t got a clue, have we Charles? We don’t know much about this area of the Island. Perhaps we should…”

  “If you’re talking about that place in the valley, I know who owns it,” a voice from the neighbouring table announced. Greta turned to see a middle-aged man dressed in a tweed sports jacket, checked shirt and yellow embossed tie, sitting at a table with a bottle blonde-haired younger woman with a small boy and girl. He raised his whisky tumbler at Greta.

  “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhear you talking,” he replied.

  “Nosy git!” Leo muttered. Greta kicked him under the table. “Ouch! You…” he nursed his ankle.

  The man continued.

  “’Tis owned by the local vicar. Funny old stick.”

  “Oh, really?” Greta was intrigued. “Has it been empty for long?”

  “Since the last occupant left this world,” the man reflectively replied. “Oh sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Marcus Mowbrie. This is my wife Arabella and these two young monkeys are Honey and Hector, our eight year old twins.”

  Greta rose to her feet and reached across to shake Marcus Mowbrie’s hand. It was rough from evident hard labour.

  “Hi, I’m Greta Berkley and this is my husband, Max.”

  “And I am Jeanne; Greta’s mother!” boomed Jeanne, who had also risen to her feet; she took hold of Marcus Mowbrie’s calloused hand and shook it enthusiastically.

  “Oh!” She swiftly removed her hand and tersely continued, “Charmed, I am sure.” She smiled in anticipation at Greta.

  “Do you mean the previous occupier died?” Greta surmised.

  “Yes, but in strange circumstances. Very unfortunate… you see, well… I don’t know if I should say anything but…” Mowbrie hesitated, awaiting the guaranteed response.

  “Strange circumstances? What do you mean?” Greta echoed.

  “Yes, the tenant was found lying stone cold dead at the cottage, in the garden; no evidence to say how she got there; nothing at all. Local police won’t comment on the happenings. It was all very strange, you might say, like the house… strange,” Mowbrie frowned as he spoke.

  “Surely the vicar must know what happened to her?”

  Mowbrie shook his head.

  “She’d been living there for some years. It was all very weird. Folk don’t like speaking about it. The vicar don’t like to speak about it neither. Always changes the subject, if you try to talk to him about it.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible!” Greta returned to her seat.

  “Some say the cottage is haunted by someone or something long departed from this world. By all accounts, they also died in mysterious circumstances.”

  “Oh my days! This sounds like something off the telly!” roared Leo in hysterics. “I wonder… who dunnit?”

  Mowbrie raised an eyebrow.

  “No laughing matter, young sir. It was very sad, very unpleasant.”

  “What actually happened to that person?” Greta felt uncomfortable. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she felt a cold shiver across her back.

  “No one knows, except that she too was found outside the cottage, in the garden. With no evidence on how her body got there. But that was centuries ago, so I’m led to believe.”

  “Sounds like a serial house of death!” chirped Leo as he narrowly missed being slapped by Greta’s left hand. “Something out of a horror novel! Told you, didn’t I, sis?”

  “Again, it’s not to be taken in jest, young sir. That’s why folk round here don’t like talking about it. You need to speak to the vicar. But he’s an odd fellow; I think the word people use to describe him is eccentric. Either that or perhaps a little tapped!” Mowbrie indicated by touching his temple. He took a swig from his glass and returned to his meal. His wife looked nonplussed and smiled without feeling.

  “Don’t listen to him, dear; Marcus only hears the gossip from the locals!” she added, spooning another pile of mashed potato from her plate into the waiting mouth of Hector, who had finished his own meal and was leaning on the edge of the table, demanding more food.

  “Thank you for the information,” Greta replied. She glanced at Max; he was desperately trying to stifle a giggle.

  Greta shook her head. She made a face at Max, which implied he should compose himself.

  “I think we might just pay the vicar a visit, to try to find out a little more about the cottage,” Greta announced as she finished her lemon meringue pie. �
��Hmm, that was yummy.”

  Leo felt the urge to comment further.

  “Do you really want to get involved with a house like that, sis? It would freak you out completely. It will do untold damage to your psychotic abilities!”

  “Psychic! You stupid prat! And no, it won’t, Leo. Don’t try to put me off. You know as much as I do about that place. Anyway, I need to know for myself, er, ourselves.”

  “Did you enjoy your meals?” The landlord, Jonny Lucas, had walked across the dining room to clear the table of plates. He was assisted by Jeanne, who had collected the crockery and had neatly piled it up at the end of the table. “Er, did I hear you say you wanted to contact the vicar?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Mr Mowbrie says that the vicar owns the cottage in the valley,” Greta replied.

  “He does indeed. He lives a couple of miles away, in the next village. I can give you his phone number if you like.” Jonny was very obliging. “I know he won’t mind you ringing,” he added and smirked at Marcus Mowbrie. “Aint that right, Mr M?”

  Mowbrie scowled but managed a smirk-filled smile. He turned towards the twins, who were becoming restless in their chairs.

  “Come on, I’ll take you two outside so you can play on the swings.”

  Honey and Hector left the table in a scrambled dash and made a beeline for the door, shrieking with excitement. Mowbrie only just reached them before they tore off into the lower beer gardens in search of the swings and climbing frame.

  Jonny Lucas beckoned for Greta to follow him to the bar. He whispered close to Greta’s ear.

  “Vicar don’t like Mr Mowbrie, because he’s tried for years to buy that cottage; vicar don’t like him or trust him; thinks he is out for making a quick profit; that don’t go down too well with the Church. He flatly refused to let Mowbrie buy it. Mowbrie owns and farms the land around the cottage.”

  “Oh, I see, it’s making some sense now,” Greta surmised. “But all this talk about mysterious deaths, is that true?” she asked Jonny who was busily writing the vicar’s name, address and phone number down on a scrap of paper at the bar. He stopped writing and looked up at Greta. “Fraid it is.”